


Reflection

by angelkat



Series: [collection] Rival Argentica (2014-2018) [24]
Category: Kung Fu Panda (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Mulan AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 21:48:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 55,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21805867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelkat/pseuds/angelkat
Summary: In which China is at war, and Mulan disguises herself as a peacock to fight in her father's place in Lord Shen's army.
Relationships: Lord Shen/Peahen!Mulan
Series: [collection] Rival Argentica (2014-2018) [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570921
Comments: 7
Kudos: 11





	1. Royal Duties

A one-eyed wolf scurried through the leafy forest grounds, crunchy leaves and twigs getting trampled under his paws as he went on. His one red eye glinted contemplatively against the crimson light, completely lost in thought. It was an unusual thing for him to be contemplative, but when you've been through the hard times, you tend to do it more frequently. Only one thought had been swivelling around and around in his brain ever since, but as minor as it sounded, the sharp, pointy tip was starting to grill on him—

 _Master couldn't be_ that _cruel_ …

He swallowed thickly, his loyalty clashing against his own moral values.

_Could he?_

The light of the full moon seemed a little reddish tonight. Red, the colour of fire and blood, two of the things that he and his pack had caused for tonight's mission. The command had been simple. Wreak havoc on the Imperial Base and strip them of all military equipment. And he and his pack had done so, successfully. Their weapons had been replenished, and the stolen handful of supplies would prove to be useful for his master's next phase in the plan. With Oogway and Kai now gone and out of the way, it should be easy for them to conquer China. The grand invasion his master had been preparing for all his life was ready to take place.

Except, something was bothering the lieutenant.

He burst through his master's tent. His taller master had his back turned to him, so surely he wouldn't be able to see him, but Fang got onto his one knee and bowed anyway. With _his_ master, you never know.

"We're almost ready, Master," he reported, with a voice reinforced by militaristic undertones. "But we've run out of soldiers."

A cold pause followed after that. Silence stretched into unbearable seconds, seconds that seemed like centuries. It was tormenting. But eventually, his master managed to summon a throaty chuckle.

"And what the hell do I care about _them_?"

Fang flinched. Flinching was beyond protocol, yes, but who bloody cared about protocol at a situation like this? The offensive words had escaped his master's mouth like a string of distasteful profanities, and Fang wanted to point out to him that his attitude was starting to become intolerably…intolerable. But if he even dared raise a single finger against his master, the price would be his neck.

His master didn't forget about replenishing their weapons, but he forgot about the many _lives_ they've lost?

Which was more important to him, really?

Fang cleared his throat. "Sir. Remember? We kicked Oogway and Kai's bu—I mean…we vanquished them, but we've lost too many of our soldiers too."

 _And many of them are my brothers_ , he grimly added in his mind.

But the master only scoffed.

"Forget about those pups you call _soldiers_." His master dismissively waved a paw in the air as if words he'd just said actually smelled something like rotten feet. "They died because they're sissies. And I don't need sissies in this war for China."

"But sir," said the bowing soldier, ears flattening in despair against the sides of his face. "How about our army?"

The question was answerless. For a second.

"Our army, you say?" His master, a vicious creature, finally stepped out into the vermillion light, one hairy foot after another, crimson red eyes gleaming like rubies on fire. "We barely even had a casualty," he said. "We're still intact; our army is still standing strong. We can still make it, and establish the original plan. Which we will initiate, right about…now."

He looked down at Fang with those eyes of his, eyes that Fang could never have the gall to look into, so he made sure to bow down and look as respectful as possible. "Search the farthest villages," the master finally commanded, his thunderous voice sending even the airwaves shaking in fear. "Find more weapons! China…" He grinned, revealing ragged, large and yellow tombstone-shaped teeth, stretching his nasty, rancorous face, "…will be mine."

"Yes, Master Khan." Fang had no other choice. He rushed out of the tent to relay the direct order of their commander to his brothers—his remaining brothers. "You heard 'im, boys! Move out!"

…sometimes, he wondered what his life would have been like if he hadn't been banished from Gongmen in the first place.

* * *

The Emperor on the throne looked up, a spark of hope erasing the evidence of distress on his eyes when the large doors of the Grand Hall suddenly opened out wide. When he saw who it was, his knees nearly buckled with relief. The royal messenger had returned. Finally. The Emperor immediately stood up, anticipating the news, and waited until the humble sparrow touched down onto the royal red carpet to bow before his superior.

The kind Emperor motioned for his servant to rise. Then he asked the one question he'd been dreading to hear the answer ever since. "Do you bear me good news, little one?"

There could only be two answers: yes or no. Whatever the answer, either could significantly affect his dynasty, the lives of his people—the only difference was, positive or negative.

And that is quite a tiff.

The sparrow raised up his head. "Your Imperial Highness, I—"

Laughter. It came from the Emperor's side, making the old one turn his head to him. He was a pig, short and stout, dressed as a scribe with one feathered pen and scroll in each of his pudgy hands. "Oh, of course, it should be good news this time!" he said. "It _better_ be!"

"Guiren," the fox Emperor drawled, pinching the bridge of his snout patiently. "Please let the sparrow speak first."

The pig's laughter stopped, shame overcoming him. He faced the ground, and nodded, a signal for the sparrow to continue. The subsequent silence granted the sparrow the permission to speak again.

"Emperor Fuzhou, your excellency. Unfortunately, I…bring unpleasant news." The royal messenger paused, as if debating from within him how he should break it to the Emperor. But, finally, he decided that a short and simple report would do, even if he himself was disheartened by it. "Masters Oogway and Kai are missing. Presumably dead." He paused to let this sink in, and watched as the Emperor's shoulders sagged like the rotten peels of a banana. "From the remains I witnessed, it hadn't been a victorious fight for China. The enemy won, and the Xiongnu are on its way to the Imperial lands. I also bear news of their most recent activity. The Imperial Camp far-off the Great Wall had been raided, our weapons stolen by the Xiongnu. Khan is leading them, and is showing no signs of slowing down, despite the tedious battle he'd recently just had against the armies of Masters Oogway and Kai." The sparrow bowed his head. "I apologize."

"I…I see." The old red fox's wise eyes lost their twinkle and dulled back to their previous distress. But only for that fleeting moment. Immediately he stood stiffly upright. "Do not apologize, Meng. None is your fault, only Khan is to blame."

The Emperor motioned for the pig beside him. His name was Guiren. The scribe may be pert, even insolent at times, but even the Emperor could trust his life with him. That was the reason he appointed the pig as the highest member of his Council in the first place.

"Guiren," the Emperor started, pacing around and about the podium, wise gears behind those old of eyes of his whirring to life, battle strategies long unused all suddenly resurfacing. "Travel to Gongmen City. Send for the general. Tell him that China's situation is dire, and his army might be our only chance."

He stopped pacing, and grimly looked ahead of him, as if the realization of his people lying in blood and ruins finally dawned on him. But just as quickly, that dismalness immediately turned into determination, setting his seemingly old and fragile face into a fixed figure of strength and willpower. Yes, there was still the slightest chance that Masters Oogway and Kai, China's greatest warriors, are still alive, but the Emperor is not taking any chances. He couldn't depend on them to protect his territory his entire life—it was time to take the risks himself.

The Emperor turned to Guiren, who bowed down at him in honour and respect. "I need to settle battle plans with the general," he told his servant, "and urgently at that."

* * *

Ignorance _is_ bliss—news had not yet reached Gongmen City's Tower of the Sacred Flame, and every citizen certainly was enjoying him or herself while they still could, at this moment in time. The merry yellow sun shone upon the rich and prosperous city, as if rejoicing in this special day indeed deserving of a grand celebration. That was because it _was_ a day of grand celebration—

A perfect day for marriage.

After years and years of searching for the dynastical woman his parents had been looking for all their lives, Gongmen's young prince, Lord Shen, finally had a bride. And, as everyone else knew, she was, of course, no other than the imperial beauty, her royal highness, Lady Lan-Niu herself, famous for her blossom-like kindness and astounding pulchritude.

But, before anything else, there was one, teeny, tiny predicament Shen's father had to deal with for a moment.

" _GONE?!"_

Everyone stopped. The lively chatters that previously conquered the air turned into a deathly silence. The sound of men clinking wineglasses and the shy laughter of women vanished. The gathered musicians looked up from their respective instruments with stunned expressions, their conductor having to turn around to see the source of the sudden interruption, and the dancers stopping in mid-action. All eyes of the invited nobles, who were dressed in their best robes, were directed towards the agitated Lord Lì of Gongmen City, the fiery display of his train feathers a frightening spectacle of colours as he towered over a small, innocent goose servant who had merely informed him of what he knew upon having been told.

But then the goose servant gulped, told himself to calm down, then forced himself to just splutter out the words and be done with it. Hopefully.

"Y-yes, y-y-your majesty," he confirmed, "w-we have searched his royal quarters, a-anywhere he could p-possibly be, b-b-b-but—he's just—"

"How about the Soothsayer?" Now aware of the spectacle he was making of himself, Lord Lì made sure to tone down the volume of his voice a little. He told himself that there was no reason to be angry at this innocent servant—he did nothing wrong. Just take a deep breath, and administer patience. There. He opened his eyes once again that he didn't even realize that he'd closed. "Ah-Ma. Have you seen her?"

"S-some servants said that they last saw her with the young prince," the goose quickly quacked, his frightened voice almost coming out as a squeak. "B-but we know nothing more than that, your highness!"

The goose's reply did not exactly make him happy. Despite this, though, he let his train feathers down—or, rather, _forced_ them down—even if that heat inside of him was amplifying dangerously by the ticking second. He knew that he had to keep his head. Being the father of a stubborn teenager taught him to have a tight hold onto his rope, and had been telling himself to do just that for _years_ —even if, right now, he was so on the edge that he was tempted to just let it go and burst. But he knew that that would not be wise.

So he heaved a soothing breath, and let it out calmly.

 _Patience_.

A young, beautiful, worry-stricken peahen watched this scene play from afar. There was a shocked look on her face, an expression any other bride would have upon knowing that their groom was suddenly gone. Lady Lan-Niu of Songzhi City was often referred to by her many, many past suitors as the Jewel of the Kingdom Crown. She was Lord Shen's betrothed now, though—she had been for the past week—so her father had closed all doors long since to prevent any more coming suitors who desperately wanted her wing. She was widely known throughout Imperial China for her extraordinary kindness and magnificent beauty—never before had anyone seen a peahen with feathers sprayed by cerulean, purple, and pink, because peahens regularly had dull colours such as grey, brown, or faded yellow.

She willingly accepted her duty as a royal, in fact she was already in her bridal clothes, but she didn't _want_ to marry Shen. It simply went against her species' natural instinct for selection. She was kind, and she didn't want to be disgusted of him, but…his dull feathers didn't, couldn't exactly impress her. White, red, black—she was nowhere near enthralled by the colours, because they were… _terrifying_. They meant death, blood, night; and the way every time those crimson eyes bore into hers made her feel penetrated, like lance into flesh. Also, Shen was just too task-oriented to be interested in romance and wooing women—nothing mattered more to him than martial arts, metallurgy, and fireworks. Most uncharacteristic for her, to say the least, because all men of the land longed to kiss her hand, but this particular prince didn't. Mildly insulting, but she didn't pay that fact any mind—because the feelings were mutual. She wanted to tell her father that she didn't want to marry Shen, for he was often distant and offensive and treated her without warmth—just like _now_ —but China's women were not supposed to speak against tradition unless they asked for permission and were allowed. And besides, her father had been hoping to bring their humble, little kingdom, Songzhi, even closer to the powerful Gongmen through this marriage, and she didn't want to let him down.

And today was the big day. Supposedly. According to the matchmaker, the kind, royal court soothsayer named Ah-Ma, this was the auspicious day for their grand union, for their forced, loveless marriage. The Soothsayer had said that this day would be a 'beginning of a new life', her exact words. But Lan-Niu was slowly starting to doubt the Soothsayer's famed talent for fortune-telling. Because, judging from the events now unfurling in front of her eyes, things were turning less and less promising.

Her husband-to-be had apparently run away from his own wedding day.

Her father was seated beside her. He stood up, angrily pounding a fist of feathers onto the table, not only to startle all present noblemen and women and cause them to drop their spoons and forks and let them clatter onto the floor, but mostly to get the attention of Lord Lì. Lan had no choice but to drop her head and let her father do the talking.

" _That's it!_ " Lan's father hollered, and he fiercely grabbed at his daughter's wing to pull her up to her feet, making the young lady flinch, both at the tightness of his grip that almost broke her feathers and the way his eyes flared with anger. She had never seen her father be so livid. " _We are going!_ Your son is a _disgrace!_ If he doesn't want to marry my daughter, then FINE! So be it! I don't care anymore if your kingdom's powerful and all that fancy—that doesn't matter anymore, the insult is too much!" He roughly pulled Lan with him as he headed towards the exit of the throne room, waving his wings to signal to the servants as he did so. All the noble guests were immobilized in place, their eyes having no other choice but to witness such a commotion.

Lan's eyes widened in surprise, and she riveted them down to see her wing being tightly clutched by her baba. She couldn't believe it—her father himself was taking her away from this nightmare! She couldn't help feeling happy of the rather impulsive decree, but…she felt selfish for thinking of herself. She still had her kingdom to worry about. Politics can be so frustrating.

"No!" Lord Lì's eyes widened at this dreadful announcement also, his anger towards his son being immediately replaced with apprehension for the future of his reign. He needed an heir, and this was the only chance he'd had—maybe ever. Every other maiden that had seen his disfigured son immediately backed away from the prince like he was a monster—Shen simply had no other chance for marriage, and Lì was most definitely not letting this golden opportunity slip away from the very tips of his wings. He was that helpless.

"Please! No! No, my friend Hai!" Lord Lì's words were intentionally supposed to be soothing, calm, gentle—but he only sounded hoarse with desperateness. "Please, let the court guards search for him first! He couldn't have run away, that's ridiculous!" He forced a laugh out of his beak, looking around to make someone, anyone, join him, but when he realized how pathetic he was making of himself, he only let his laughter die, sealing it with an awkward clearing of the throat. Finally getting a hold of himself again, he began, "Worry not, my lord, my friend Hai. He must be around here _somewhere_ —"

"Then _where?!"_ Niu's father, Lord Hai, whirled around to face him. He had a smaller stature than Lì and was inferior in power than the lord of Gongmen, but at this moment he seemed to tower over him as he cast him with a shadow. "I've had enough of that boy's insolence! For all I know, he's supposed to be right _here_ already, exchanging marriage vows with Niu! We've been waiting here for hours, but you keep telling us that he'd be here soon, he'd be here _soon_ —but now you say he's _gone?!"_ The respected nobleman Lord Hai of the Songzhi practically already lost all patience; he thought that he'd given enough of _that_ to Lì's son, but the stubborn boy just refused to give respect to his daughter. Running away from his own wedding day—such an insult!

Everyone in the grand royal hall flinched, his shouts echoing off the walls, the ominous silence doing nothing but intensify the tension. Lord Hai of Songzhi was a beloved ruler, known for being patient like his daughter, Lady Lan—but once angered, he was like an erupting volcano spewing nothing but spouts of hot lava. Lady Lan was trying to calm him, saying things like, 'Father, please,' or 'Let us handle this calmly,' and even 'You've taught me all my life to never raise my voice.' But he wouldn't be swayed by her soothing words. He wouldn't let her. He loved his daughter, and he knew that she was being noble trying to follow her royal duties, but it hurt him every time he noticed that she was only forcing herself to marry Shen. Marrying him was the right thing to do, yes—but to an extent.

Because now, even _he_ had had enough.

"Oh, please!" Lì was trying to laugh it off, even though he'd rather be tearing down the whole tower brick by brick in all his rage until he found him. Oh, when he found him, oh, Shen will just _see_. "Gone? Ridiculous. He's not gone. Of course I was just exaggera—"

"Exaggerating, yes! You've insulted my daughter in every single exaggerated fashion alright!" Lord Hai put a wing as if to protect Lan from the peacock in front of him, whose son had done nothing but insult them. "If you really want this marriage to take place, then produce him! Bring the groom right here!" he challenged. "But, since you are _such_ a good father who had taught his child enough _discipline_ , I suppose he's playing with those grubby fireworks _toys_ of yours like a _boy_ again, isn't he? Isn't he? Isn't he?!"

Waves of murmurs spread throughout the crowd. Indeed, the young Lord Shen, aside from his deathly white colour, was notorious for being obsessed with his parents' marvellous invention. Everyone then started talking about disciplining children, the responsibility of parents, royal duties, and the outright obligation of Lì over his son, each and every one of them acquiescently agreeing with what Lord Hai had just said—that Lì hadn't been disciplining his child enough.

In the middle of the hushed hubbub, though, Lì's blood could only run cold in his veins. He barely heard that their chatters were already putting him in a bad light—'an irresponsible father', 'a shameful son', 'teaching honour and respect'—because, his attention…was directed elsewhere. It made everything around him mute as his eyes widened with realization. It was very faint, very, very faint, in fact, that it seemed as if he was the only who could smell it, but still—it was there.

It was the smell of smoke.

But Hai, like everybody else, was oblivious to Lì's panicked and widening eyes. He stomped a foot forward, demanding,

"ISN'T HE?!"

"No," Lì breathed heavily, putting a wing in the air to call silence, which everyone hesitantly complied. Hai was furious for being ruled over by someone else, but wisely chose to quietly oblige. Now having successfully gained everyone else's attention, the Lord of Gongmen did not speak for several tantalizing moments, putting everyone, especially his beloved wife, in a worried state.

"My love?" inquired Lady Meifeng, Shen's mother, as she anxiously stepped towards her husband. She'd been hiding from the scene all this while, but now she felt it as his wife to be her responsibility to step forward. Something was bothering Lì. "Is something the matter?"

He didn't answer.

"Lì, you heard her! Speak!" Hai ordered, the thunder in his voice hiding the anxiety slowly starting to creep in his blood. There was now a fearful edge to his tone, anger to his friend long forgotten. Lì was starting to creep him out, that was for sure. "What kind of game are you playing at? S-Stop joking around, will you!"

But, it was just then when everyone else started to notice that the air had become a little… _hazier_ than normal. Noise started to rise, panic was slowly brewing like tea in a pot—but instead of jasmine, it smelled like fire. Lord Lì, agitated, abruptly swung his head around to turn to the goose servant, demanding,

"Have you searched the—"

_Bang!_

It sounded like the crack of thunder, as if the sky had just been ripped open. The ground on which everyone stood _literally_ moved, even just the slightest of inches, causing everyone present to engage in an uproar. The explosion came from down below, perhaps a floor below the throne room, and Lady Meifeng gasped as she realized this, finally comprehending what her husband had been trying to comprehend just for the past few ominous seconds now. Her wings flew over her mouth to cover the horror on her face, becoming more and more worried as a mother would for her son. Both she and her husband perfectly knew what was going on, just a floor below.

" _The laboratory!"_

Just then, a rabbit maid came panting towards the throne room, her petite little face stricken with terror. "Y-Your majesty!" she exclaimed, her breathless voice carrying out through the vast chamber. "Lord Shen—he—he—"

Lì did not wait for her sentence to end. The peacock lord was already a blur of rich blues and vivid greens as he practically sped out of the room, past the frightened maid, the rushing stream of his train feathers nearly toppling those who got in his way. It happened like lightning. Lady Meifeng dutifully followed her husband in agitation, her wings carrying up her long robes from the polished floor to keep herself from stumbling over the textile. With the two of them gone, all the frantic guests were left without someone to take control and authority over the situation, which made them even more hysterical.

Lord Hai, confused of what was happening, stood in the middle of all the chaos, not really comprehending. He tried to stop the husband and wife from leaving with his own desperate pleas of "Hey, don't leave me alone over here! _Lì!_ Lady Mei!" but the panic that had engulfed the two royals were too much that they didn't even care, or they didn't even hear him. Now left alone, he felt the responsibility falling over his shoulders in putting the unrest into rest—so he took the liberty, stood onto the podium, tried to get his eyes over the crowd, and put his wings up in the air in a gesture that said that he needed their attention.

"Everyone, I beg you! Calm _down!_ " he pleaded with them. But they didn't even seem to hear, because they started to run around in circles and shout 'Fire! Fire! We're going to die!' over and over again.

Hai fought the urge to palm himself on the forehead. Were these even _nobles?_

"Everyone, be calm. Lord Lì and Lady Meifeng have this perfectly under control. I promise you. Everything is going to be just—wait." His eyes suddenly caught sight of his daughter, Lady Niu, who stood by the door, ready to exit the throne room with a pained smile on her face. The heartfelt look on her face gave him pause. He blinked his eyes twice just to make sure that what he was seeing was actually true—because where does she think _she's_ going? But before he could even grasp any sort of answer, Lan had already swept her feathers over the floor, and left without another word, leaving Hai in so much of a panic himself that he had to stumble forward, screaming her name like a hysterical madman, fearing the worst that her too noble-hearted and self-sacrificing daughter might do. He loved her kindness, but sometimes he couldn't help but despise it.

" _Niu!_ Lan wait—wait! Don't you even _dare_!"

Meanwhile, a floor down, Lord Lì and Lady Meifeng were a breathless blur of silken robes and brilliant hues as they frantically dashed through the palace halls as quickly as their clawed feet could carry them. They barely even spared a glance to all the countless royal servants of varying species who stopped what they were doing to bow and give respect to their king and queen, although with confused looks on their faces, wondering what could be so troubling that it even had their rulers in so much of a frenzy. It seems as if they didn't yet know what was happening.

So Lì took the liberty of informing them. He stopped his feet from moving across the polished floor to take the briefest of seconds in raising a wing into the air to gain their fullest attention. His voice a resonant thunder, he commanded, "Get every maid and servant of this palace fill pots with sand and water, and bring them to the royal laboratory." When he received only blank looks, Lì finalized, his voice almost a shout, " _Do it with haste!_ "

It was only then when they understood, and there they went, scurrying off to do their unified task.

Lady Meifeng looked back to see his husband starting to catch up with her. She shared a look with her husband, smiling despite her distress, which he returned with a strict nod. Meifeng's smiling face, however, immediately evaporated as an ugly whiff of poisonous smoke blossomed into the air like poisonous gas that nearly already choked her lungs. They were nearing the huge doors the led to the royal laboratory, but the beautiful, intricate designs of complicatedly-carved peacocks into the thick, mahogany wood was lost into the greyish, black puffs of smoke that had started to accumulate, flowing out of the closed doors' hinges like water rushing down a cliff—only upward this time. The ominous odour of the burning wood lingered like parasites into the air, the sound of the licking fire splitting to the ears—

Meifeng burst through the laboratory doors with a start, eyes wild with all the chaos going around. And there, there she saw, that the laboratory was no longer a laboratory, only fire, smoke, nothing else. She feared she would never see her son again—alive. But then, her eyes finally got through the burning turmoil, she spotted him, his pristine white reflecting the bright red orange flames, he's alive, he's over there! The joy upon seeing him was so overwhelming, but when Shen's eyes locked with hers, with a grim look on his face, the mother's heart also nearly broke into two.

"Shen?" she questioned, silently, at first to herself. But then when the white peacock whirled around to turn his back to her, as if he hadn't even heard her at all, that was when Meifeng's joy turned into panic. Whatever he was going to do, she didn't like it. "S-shen, _wait!_ Don't go there! Get back!"

The queen felt the urge to leap into the danger of the fires herself and drag Shen all the way back to safety if she had to, and didn't even realize she'd been about to do just that hadn't it been for the warm wing that suddenly landed itself firmly onto her shoulder, fixating her into place, not letting her move even the slightest inch further with the force it possessed. She looked up, and saw that it was Lì.

"Stay here," he told her, his voice radiating authority. But, before the lord could even launch himself into the air, there was, instead, suddenly an undistinguishable flash of ceruleans, purples, and pinks that hurled itself into the raging fire, and—and—

Hai suddenly came from behind Lì and Meifeng and pushed them apart, just so he could get a better glimpse of the horror playing before their very eyes. Hai couldn't believe he's going to lose his only daughter because of an utterly despicable white freak of nature.

" _Niu! Come BACK!"_

But as she coughed at the vicious smell of smoke and the burning fire, the lady was oblivious of her father's screams that all seemed small and faraway. She had to continue trudging on. Because if, by this act, her supposed prince, Lord Shen, would finally look at her differently and reconsider taking her as his bride, then she would do it. Her father had always told her that being Lady of Gongmen would solve all her kingdom's financial struggles. Making Shen fall in love with her was the noble thing to do—if only to make their marriage possible.

 _For my kingdom_ , she told herself, through breathless huffs and puffs. _For…for my kingdom._

Her long robes gave her nothing but inconvenience in this fiery trek. Fumbling and stumbling she went, but she strived to manage nonetheless. A large burning piece of timber suddenly crashed onto the floor where she had just been mere seconds ago, and it made her look around and gasp at the death that had just missed her, causing breaths that signalled the onslaught of hyperventilation gripping her chest tightly. Panic swelled, and she thought she might not even make it _half_ across the room alive, but she crushed even that mere idea, shaking her head from that thought, refusing to give up. She re-gathered the bothersome textiles of her robe in her purple wings, cursing from the back of her mind the Chinese mentality that women _had_ to wear such impracticality, but as the burning smoke entered her nose and suffocated her brain, she had more and more trouble trying to even _think_ about keeping herself alive—all she felt like wanting to do now was collapse.

But she knew she couldn't just give up that easily. So, she kept pushing herself, forward, forward, even through all the intense, hot grey smoke that raged from all around, stinging her eyes and forcing coughs that grew even more painful, one after another. Eventually, though, and _thankfully_ at that, bless the Fate who'd been merciful to her, she was able to reach the prince.

"Shen, m-my pri...my prince..." She barely had a breath left inside of her, but nevertheless she forced the painful words out of her parched, dry throat. She was drained, but, summoning up every last bit of strength she had within her, she weakly lifted up a wing, eyes wet and voice hoarse with all the smoke and her coughing, "We—we should...should l-leave this place at once—"

Shen tugged away his wing from her. Harshly. Her concerned touch was clearly _not_ a welcome gesture for the young lord. Though considered sickly and weak, his force was enough to make Lan stumble forward a little. And the way he icily gazed down at her, despite all the raging fire around them, was even chillier than the winter.

He turned away.

"Get out of here." He was facing the other direction, so that Lan couldn't see the distress displayed onto his face—she only heard the harsh words, all loud and clear. Dully, he murmured, "You'll only be an unnecessary bother."

Lan gulped down a lump in her throat.

Despite the stinging words, though, she stepped forward. Although it was dwindling, her confidence was still there. Maybe she'd be able to get it through the peacock's skull of pomposity. Maybe this time he'd actually listen. Maybe he'd realize that she was actually trying to _save_ him.

She dared grab at his wing again. "But—"

The prince's whole body stiffened in horror at the touch. He didn't want her giving him her lying, lying, _lying_ sentiments, but what was she doing now?

_How dare she?!_

He was searching for someone else. He wanted those sentiments to come from _someone else_ , and the fear that he may never be able to feel the touch of those same, annoyingly loving hoofs again cooked inside of him a fiery storm of emotions that absolutely blinded even his own rash actions—he didn't even realize that he'd already swept his train feathers over the floor to throw the noble lady into the air, her back landing harshly onto the cold stone floor as a scream escaped her beak; and it wasn't until he heard his own, rough voice come out from his scorched throat did he realize what he'd just done.

"Are you _mad?!_ " he barked down at her, towering over the now helpless peahen, his voice even more powerful than the roar of the fire around them. "Save yourself, get _OUT OF HERE!_ "

Fear now showed itself to Niu's eyes, looking as if she was about to break down crying. Being the pampered little daddy's princess all her entire life, she was never used to being treated... _shouted at_ like this. She quivered and back away, trembling wings frenetically searching the polished floor as if she could find a handhold in the smooth surface and hold onto it forever for dear life. The wide-eyed girl obviously never knew that her supposed husband had this kind of a terrifying beast living inside him.

A monster.

The fear in Niu's eyes gave Shen a bit of a pause, a feeling of self-horrification hitting him hard in the face like a block of ice. He shouldn't really even _care_ about it, he shouted all the time at the palace servants and they were all used to it, but this here, the look on the peahen's face, the picture of it practically _burning_ into his mind—

…a monster.

"Lan! My daughter!" shrieked Hai, interrupting his thoughts, the old peacock limping through the fire towards his fallen daughter, still down on the ground. Shen's eyes were locked onto him as the father struggled, never looking away from him as if he was _studying_ his every move, and in fact he was—how come Lan had a father like him, _him_ who was willing to go through all the fires just to get to his daughter? It wasn't fair. It _angered_ him. He watched with envious eyes as Hai crouched down beside her, feeling at her forehead, asking her questions, busily buzzing around her like a bee as a worried father would to his hurt daughter. But, once assured that Lan was perfectly fine, Hai glared venomously at Shen, the younger prince glaring just right back—it was a silent war, until Shen fiercely turned his head to look away from Hai to glare at his own father, who was across the room and still standing beside the door, just staring back at him in an anger that even rivalled Shen's. Only, Lì's own was mixed with utter disbelief—at everything of that he had just witnessed his son do to his wife-to-be.

Lì just couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe at the attitude Shen had just displayed in front of his soon-to-be father in law. How much of an _ingrate_ can his son ever be?

Lan was only trying to save him from the flames, but what did he do? What did he do?

Lì felt his blood boil as he thought this.

Well, Shen had practically _thrown_ her, how lovely!

Seeing the thunderous look on his father's face made Shen turn his back to every one of them, Hai, Niu, his parents, everyone else that had gathered at the door to watch the flames take over the place. He walked deeper, deeper into the fire, coughing in the smoke and occasionally stumbling in his haste, ignoring his father's and everyone else's yells to come to safety already. Shen wanted to smack them all in the head—he wasn't a fool, of _course_ he wanted to go back there already, but couldn't they see that he had a purpose? Well, yes, his whole body hurt; yes, he wanted to give out; yes, he wanted the security of safety, but he _had_ to continue searching for _her_ , he _had_ to.

The father's point of view was not as optimistic, however. Lì could only vent his frustration by stomping angrily on the ground once Shen disappeared from everyone else's sight, thinking that his son was as obstinate as solid iron and virtually _impossible_ to bend. What was he trying to do, suicide? Why did he have to be so stubborn? What is his son planning to _do_ in there in the first place, anyway—create a spectacle of himself by showing to everyone how he rebelled against his father's idea of this cursed, forced marriage? Lì didn't like forced marriages himself, but his son didn't have a choice—it was a royal's duty, and he couldn't run away from it! Is Shen trying to kill himself over something as shallow?

_Why isn't he saving himself from the fire already?!_

"Lord Lì," someone from behind him announced, "we need your permission to—"

"Yes! Yes, do it!" Lì urgently shouted to his servants, who, when he looked behind him, had all already gathered and had their respective pots and pails held in their hooves, paws, and wings, ready to fire at command. And, with a dramatic sweep of a wing over the blazing room, his wife Meifeng clutching at his other free wing in terror, Lì did just that, saying, with a thundering voice, "Extinguish _everything!_ "

The servants then filed into the room through the laboratory's wide door, and, once inside, they together individually played their one role: throwing out giant buckets of both sand and water to smother the flames and put their anger to rest. The heavy, poisonously smoky air was full and noisy of their coughs and shouts as they tried to get their message across the room, commanding and encouraging everyone with motivating shouts of 'You heard the lord, everybody—faster, _faster!_ ' all the while splashing the contents of all they had at their disposal. They did this so in drilled protocol until they had all eliminated _everything_ —from the largest of the flames, to even the smallest living ember.

The roar of the fires now gone, everyone exhaustedly moaned their fatigue, one by one collapsing to the ground in tired triumph, the servants smiling among themselves for the job well done. But the smiles on their faces were immediately replaced by expressions of confusion and bewilderment when their ruler, Lord Lì, coldly swept past them in a flash of colours, heading towards his destination once he'd spotted him, _him_ , amidst burnt wood and curtains and equipment scattered about the floor, now blackened by soot, wetted by water, sullied by sand. As he simply marched forward, he didn't even give the servants the least of his gratitude, which was atypical. But, really, that was actually fine with them—because, with the look on his face, he clearly radiated one thing and one thing only.

Anger.

It was as if the recently extinguished fire suddenly resurrected in his eyes. Lord Lì's sight was fixed: his son, Shen, hunched over a corner, wings were stamped over the walls, silver robes smeared black, his long, filthy neck craned downward. His back rose and fell as he heaved in irregular breaths, obviously trying his best to calm those ragged coughs that welled from within of him and threatened to come out in a yet another incontrollable bout, his difficulty of barely managing to bottle them inside obvious in the terrible way his wings shook, like someone who had a very high fever and was suffering convulsions. Lì, however, was blinded by his rage and did not see at all the physical pain his son was just going through—he simply marched over to him, pulled him harshly by the wing, and threw him to the opposite wall in his anger. The crowd that had gathered gasped at the shock of what they had just seen.

Lady Meifeng all but exploded at her own horror over her husband. "Lì! He's our son!"

"No son of mine is a _coward_ , would dare run away from his duty, and would disgrace me like _this_ one just _had_." He listed these things mechanically off his tongue without even looking at his wife. Lì started pacing across the room back and forth with a distressed look on his face as he wildly gestured his wings outward like a madpeacock, Shen glowering down at the ground through empty space with a stubborn, defiant stare, acting like he didn't care about whatever his father said.

"Today is your wedding day, but where were you? _Where were you?_ In here. You were in _here!"_ He then suddenly halted in his prancing to look at Shen, whose gaze was blank and aimless, which only made the father madder. He neared his face to his, raised his voice to a thunderous level—as if that would make Shen finally look at him, even though he didn't. "You were in _here_ , in this godforsaken laboratory, when you're meant to be at the _altar_. This is the last straw. I'm setting a new law, _forbidding_ even the very tips of your feathers from _ever_ touching even the single most insignificant _speck_ of gunpowder—"

" _What?"_ That made Shen finally look at him, eyes blinking as if he'd just broken off of a trance. He stepped forward, ready to protest, "But father, it was all an acci— _"_

" _A royal_ _prince does NOT talk back!"_

But he wanted to. Shen wanted to say more, and was about to, actually—but something stopped him. Something unidentifiable from his body that pierced him like an icicle. He clamped his beak shut, wings clenched into fists, holding them tightly in place, not wanting the scream that built up from inside of him escape his throat. The pain was physical, but he didn't want to crumble in front of his father and show everyone else who was watching that he was still as weak and sickly as the hatchling he'd been.

_Stay…firm._

And where in the world did that pain come from, anyway?

Lady Meifeng, however, misunderstood the distraught look on his son's face as emotional. She knew how Shen loved fireworks, and having it taken away from him might mean the crush of his ambitions. She took a hesitant step forward.

"Lì, don't you think that punishment is a bit—"

"NO! Because look at what this—this white, peacock _accident_ has done!" He pointedly turned to Shen. _"_ Look at what _you've_ done!" Lì gestured all around him to give his words more emphasis than they already have, as if his thunderous voice wasn't emphasis enough. "Look at what you've done. Look at what you've _done_. You—you _don't even know_ what you've done!" He was saying those words over and over again as he himself couldn't get over it. Then started rattling off the list of unfortunate things that all seemed to lead back to Shen, like in a string of bad luck. "You almost burned the _entire_ tower, created a disturbing uproar, sent all the invited nobles into panic, insulted my friend Hai, almost even _killed_ her daughter—and you—you—you are supposed to be her _husband_. What were you even doing here in the first place, anyway? Did you forget that _today_ is your _wedding?_ Tell me, you dishonourable _son_ , tell me—how much of a bad omen can you just _be?_ "

Shen's crest feathers only tightened in response.

And Meifeng saw. She sharply turned to her husband, hollering, "Lì, _that's enough!"_ Then she turned to the prince on the other side, whose face was rigid and looked very close to exploding. Meifeng walked towards him, "Oh, my Shen, please don't listen to—"

The older peacock lord shot out a wing to cut her short, prohibiting his wife from setting her foot any farther beyond the boundary he'd just set.

"Stay _out_ of this, Meifeng."

" _Out?"_ She incredulously put a wing at her chest at that. "Out, you say? I'm the mother here!"

"And _I_ am the father, the manof this house." He turned to look at her. "I decide what happens to my kingdom, to every citizen, to our family, to our legacy, to my son. I am the law, and he who dares defy me is a blithering _fool_ —"

"No, he is not."

Everyone's eyes turned to Shen. The prideful projection of his voice alone seemed to command just that. He stood in all his princely peacock dignity, stretching his slender neck to appear just a little bit taller, lifting his head a little more higher, _just_ to provoke his father.

"He is _not_?" Lì seethed out the words through a tight and gritted beak.

"Yes. He is not." All his life, the young prince was taught that it was improper to stand up against his parents, even if his intentions were right. Chinese morality. Just be quiet, bow down your head, be humble, and let the elder lecture you, keep your mouth shut, never talk back. It was a sign of a respectful and well-raised child, values that are mostly attributed to parents.

But he didn't _care_ about all that traditional rubbish right now. What, is he supposed to bow down his head right now and fake an expression, _pretend_ to be humble and let himself get chewed off, _just_ to show to all the witnessing nobles over there that Lì had been _such_ a nice father, had brought up his child all nice and cosy, when it was the exact opposite? Shen hated politics—everyone had to be a disgusting liar.

And he was not willing to become one of them.

"He who dares defy you is not a fool. Instead," he stepped forward, daringly towards his father, voice projected bold and proud, "he is a challenger."

"Shen!" Meifeng now passed a reprimanding look towards her son. "Not one more word out of that beak of yours or—"

Lì's fists shook by his side. "Don't you dare…"

"Oh, but I do. And here is my verdict. I—" the rebellious prince's flaring eyes only narrowed with utter dislike as he neared his face toward him— "am _not_ getting married."

Lì's had it.

Nobody saw it happen. But it did. The father's wing sharply slapped his son's cheek, and Shen fell to the ground with a tormented scream. He couldn't believe it— _no one_ in the room couldn't believe it. The two of them had verbal fights like this, but it never, not once, led to physical. He wanted to shout a comeback to his father, but an unknown excruciating pain from somewhere in his body exploded, that same, physical pain he'd felt earlier, but now it felt much worse—it blinded him in white noise, rendering him incapable to do anything but shut his eyes close to rid of whatever it was. The pain was so overwhelming that Shen couldn't even identify _where_ that pain came from. But Lì didn't even seem to care.

"You are going to do what I want you to do," Lì said with a barely controlled temper, pointing at him a threatening finger as if warning Shen for another punishment if he dared talk back again. "Don't think that you have a choice in this—don't even _think_ you have a right to speak. You don't have my permission for you to state your verdict in the first place. You and Lan are going to be married, and that's final. I raised you, doing everything a father can give to you. Do not be the disgraceful ingrate, the utter dishonour I'm convinced you are by following my order for once."

"H-how…how dare you say..." Shen was breathing hard, trying to lift himself up from the floor, but he managed the words out nonetheless. "How dare you say that _you_ raised me?"

That gave Lì pause. A flash of…of _something_ passed through the father's eyes, and there it stayed, lasting for more than a fleeting second.

But he was quick to blink it away anyway. "You…I—"

" _Soothsayer!"_

Lì was quite pleased at being interrupted because he didn't even know what he was about to say there, anyway. But still, he acted like he didn't like the intrusion. "Meifeng, I thought I _told_ you—"

"Oh, shush, she might be hurt!" The regal wife ran across the room, not caring if the soot on the ground stuck to her royal robes as she passed by. She crossed the room and went to a dark corner, where she knelt down to level the filthy and exhausted old goat that had been her family's trusted friend ever since. The goat had been hidden by the black soot, her clothes were practically smeared with nothing but ash—maybe that was why she had been unnoticed all this time, until, of course, Meifeng had. "Are you hurt, Ah-Ma?" she inquired worriedly, streaking a wing over her forehead to remove the dirt that soiled the goat's face. "Can you hear me? Do you recognize who I am?"

The court soothsayer was in fact just trying to stir from the unconsciousness that had fallen on her, a little while ago. But she, so far, felt no damage whatsoever in her body, thank goodness.

"I-I'm fine, my lady."

"Oh, thank goodness!" Meifeng burst out, voicing the Soothsayer's thoughts, suddenly feeling boneless with relief at the only good thing that seemed to happen today. But the refreshing feeling of happiness was immediately drained as she observed the elder's clothes, torn and shredded if not burned. "B-but…what on earth… _happened_ to you?"

"…Shall I tell you from the very beginning?"

Meifeng firmly nodded. "The _very_ beginning."

The Soothsayer's eyes grew glazed, distant, as if she was looking back at the faraway past. After spending a few more seconds for contemplation, she looked at Meifeng, almost smilingly, as if the miracle she'd been praying for her entire life had just been granted despite her filthy condition.

"I went to fetch for the silken kerchief Shen unintentionally left in this laboratory. I presumed that he would need it when the marriage actually takes place. But I choose not to reveal much about that part of the story." She smiled, as if at herself, for something she remembered, before resuming. "But, while in the darkness of the laboratory, I was not very careful in handling the candleholder, by my age and trembling hoofs, unfortunately. Then, when the candle touched the curtains, the fire began. I did not know how to get out quickly, I was trapped and the poisonous smell of the smoke was hindering. And when the flames eventually reached the crates of gunpowder, there sounded an explosion I presume you've all heard.

"A large burning piece of wood fell down from the ceiling to kill me," she began. "I closed my eyes. I prepared myself for the pain. I anticipated my death, prepared to accept it." Her voice was like a hush that it usually was whenever she foretold a mystic prediction, and it held the attention and every breath of everyone listening. She then opened her eyes. "But it never came. The burning wood never hit me—death never came. And the reason behind this…"

The Soothsayer lifted her gaze to lock her eyes with Shen's.

"…was a certain prince who kicked the wood out of the way to save my life."

At this, Lord Lì and Hai's beaks almost dropped to the floor. The royal ladies, Meifeng and Niu, gasped their disbelief. The rest of the watchers just stared at Shen, stunned at the revelation. They slowly let it sink in—the reason that Shen didn't come with Lady Lan in the first place while the fire had been raging all around them was because he was looking for the Soothsayer—in order to _rescue_ her. It was only then when Shen's intentions became clear. So he hadn't been trying to commit suicide. He hadn't been trying to rebel. He hadn't meant to harshly shout at and throw his bride to the floor in the heat of all the earlier tension. It was all just a freak accident, and Shen was not at fault.

The prince relished in this trice for a few seconds, him and his surrogate mother sharing a moment so intimate that it couldn't be described by words—but he caught himself just in time before anyone else could even notice, denying in himself of what he felt for her. He tore his gaze away from the Soothsayer's and defiantly glared at his father instead, who, judging by the bewilderment on the lord's face and the speechlessness of his tongue, was openly caught shamefaced for the first time in his entire life.

Shen anticipated to hear his father's voice in this. All that he'd heard from him the past minute had all been wounding as they each stabbed him, the pain being almost physical—'disgraceful ingrate', 'bad omen', 'dishonourable son'. His father never called him that his entire life, but now the truth was out, and it hurt.

Even so, Shen had little hope that he didn't mean to say those things after all. He wanted to hear him take back all that he'd said, he wanted to hear him apologize, he wanted to hear him declare himself guilty. He wanted to see if, at the very least, his father would lower himself, kill his own pride, for once—for him. He wanted to see if he didn't mean to call him all those things, all those badmouthing he'd thrown at him mere minutes ago. He wanted to hear him say that he didn't mean any of those—he wanted to hear him say it.

But there was only silence.

And it was his mother who broke it.

"Oh, Shen! My son!" She came scurrying towards him and she knelt down beside him, her worried eyes boring into his. She was stroking the feathers onto his head, gently sweeping away the ash that had been smeared onto his face, the feel of her wings on his _almost_ making him forget his gloom. But he didn't. Her beak was moving, but Shen barely caught a word, because he'd simply muted out of this world and had gone to nowhere. He knew he should at least be grateful that _one_ of his parents still genuinely cared for him, but he felt so impossibly numb at that moment that summoning even the tiniest hint of gratitude in his eyes became an unachievable struggle. Until, that is, she shrieked.

"Shen! No!" Meifeng said, shocked, pointing at his feet—that, when he looked back and saw, he noticed had been burned. Badly. He didn't know how it happened, but he was appalled of the sight nevertheless. So that was the pain he'd been feeling before. Right now, though, he barely felt anything, which he knew should scare him but he couldn't pay it any mind. His feet looked like they should hurt, and most unpleasantly at that, but they must hurt so much that he couldn't feel it anymore.

Meifeng, though, seemed to have more trouble getting over it.

"Oh, Shen oh Shen oh Shen…your…your—your _—!_ " The sight before her was so horrible that she couldn't even find the words.

"Son…" Her husband's voice was hushed and barely heard, but it was there. Lì had been finally able to gather his voice in all the turmoil. "Your talons…"

Shen looked away from both of them. He knew how gruesome his burned feet looked like right now, but he didn't exactly have the enthusiasm to dwell on it.

"They're fine," he deadpanned, the only mechanic answer he could muster.

"They're not," Lì insisted. He approached him, slowly, "Let's…get you to the royal infirmary—"

"Lord Lì, a royal messenger wants to see you."

Lì blinked. Unlike earlier, he certainly didn't find this interruption pleasant this time.

The peacock turned around to look at the servant who just announced the news, and let his frustration show on his face. Ugh, of all times, why _now?_ He wanted to make it up for Shen, really, he did, but he could think up of no other way to make it up for him than _this_. Lì was emotionally awkward at approaching things like this, a similar trait his son had apparently inherited, and it frustrated him that both of them just couldn't open up to each other. But even _this_ opportunity, an opportunity of saying an apology to his son, was going to be taken away from him again by that stupid pig who often complained that the fertilizers given to him weren't enough. He couldn't believe it.

Just the perquisites of being a royal.

"Not _now_ , An! Can you not see I'm busy?"

"I am sorry, your highness. Deeply." The servant genuinely looked like he did—after all, this had been his job for years. "But this is different, milord, not the usual pig who complained about the fertilizers. This time it's a royal messenger sent by the Emperor himself, and even Guiren—the highest member of the Imperial Council—is with him. It is...it is…" This time, the servant passed the look of apology to Shen. "I'm truly sorry, my prince, but it is very urgent."

Shen huffed indignantly. As if that still affected him. His father could attend to all meetings of Imperial China for all he cared.

Lì was still reluctant to leave him, though. "But son, are you—"

Shen slapped his wing away, and this, he did, by unconditional reflex. "I'm fine. Just go."

A look of hurt crossed Lì's eyes, but this time he decided to keep his beak shut. So he simply drew his wing back, and, with one final glance, left the room to attend this so-called 'urgent meeting'.

And, once his father disappeared from Shen's sight, the exhaustion of the entire day finally caught up with him. The muscles in his chest tightened, his heart beat in erratic rhythms, and nausea drove him to view the world like a spinning top. Shen resisted, held on to consciousness—no, _no_ , he was _not_ going to display to everyone else that he was weak, just like back when he was a child, just… _no!_ But, unfortunately, his sickly body wasn't as strong as his willpower, the exhaustion was too overpowering. Everything began to fade into an incomprehensible blur as each of his systems started shutting down. His world began to fade into black, and the last thing he could remember was the gasp of the people, the worried screams of his mother, and the reassuring look of the Soothsayer, who came before him at the last second to give his wing one last squeeze before he finally gave in and fell into black oblivion.


	2. Huang Mulan

The cool morning sun peeked through the curtains, the yellow rays crawling over to Huang Mulan's study desk. She was a young peahen with dull brown feathers morphing into…er, darker brown up her long slender neck, and still fading into…well, _lighter_ brown up her primary feathers, and she was hunched onto her desk, busy eyeing something with her chopsticks with her curiously large…um, brown eyes while she was still dressed in her matching…golden brown nightclothes. She was supposed to be taking a bath and beautifying herself in front of the mirror like every other girl in the Songzhi Province was already currently doing, but what _she_ was doing right now was something peculiar for a Chinese noblewoman to do.

Mulan was studying a…a rock.

"Hmmm," she mumbled under her breath, as she held the rock reverently in her brown feathers. "Interesting."

To normal eyes, what she had in her hand would look like a rock.

And to normal eyes still, Mulan herself would look like an absolute _lunatic_ studying a…well, a rock.

But Huang Mulan of the Noble House of Liwei did _not_ have normal eyes. Hers, though a very dull and ordinary dark shade of brown, were wide with child-like curiosity, sharp with raw intelligence, and consumed with wanderlust as they always observed around her to examine _everything_ she saw in her line of vision. It was the only one thing about her that made her unique. For example, a week ago, when, for once, she was allowed to go out of their noble household with her family for an outing, she tumbled upon this special arcane rock of mysterious abilities. She discovered it by accident when she had unconsciously kicked it with her talons as she was walking down the cemented pavement. It skittered down the road, then she had noticed that it… _magically_ stuck to a metal post. It was as if the metal post had a very powerful mystic force to draw this peculiar rock to it. For a moment she separated herself from her family and picked up the rock, experimenting with it and jiggling with it and all those other things that a typical curious scientist would do. But when she tried other rocks, the metal didn't attract them to it—only this inky-black, ore-like rock.

So she had been on the floor then, getting her noble robes dirty, looking like a crazy old woman trying to test other rocks to stick on this said metal pole. She hadn't even realized that a crowd had gathered around her, laughing at her innocence, and her ashamed family had to drag her back at home and lock her up to preserve the tiniest bit of honour and dignity that the noble Huang family had left. Her older sister Chang had kept telling 'I told you so's to their father. Chang hadn't originally wanted her sister to go with them on the trip, because her innocence would surely trip them up and disgrace the family. Of course it turned out she was right.

But Mulan didn't prefer the term _innocence_. More like…stubborn curiosity. So, all week, she had been hunched up on this very desk, observing this mystical, magical rock of wonderment. She had asked her family about it, but they had all exhaustedly groaned at their youngest member, which wasn't a very encouraging thing for the young and curious female scientist. Her older sister had called her the usual names she called her with just to get on her nerves.

"We _told_ you, Brownie, you irritating brown wart weasel of eternal brownness," Chang had said, her older sister. Chang often insulted her by stressing the word 'brown' in every sentence, since Mulan was the only member of her entire peafowl family with dull brown feathers. Some said her brownness was abnormal, since her father was a spectacular peacock, her mother a natural pink beauty, and her sister called by her suitors as the Princess of All China's Colourful Iridescences, all the while Mulan was stuck with the nickname Brownie. Chang always said that Mulan was only picked up by their mother on a garbage can since Mulan was unwanted by her real parents, though of course it wasn't the true story. It was just that Mulan was brought to the world differently.

"That rock is a rock like all the other millions of rocks on China," Chang had been telling her. "It's a common magical rock that attracts…uh…random things that it feels like attracting. It's fate. And destiny. Throw that outside—you're disgracing the family whenever you hold that stupid rock like a stupid innocent. The Huang family should be acting like _nobles_ , not like children obsessed with rocks. You're the only one in our flat whole world who doesn't know what that rock is."

Mulan had been about to throw in her theory that the world might not be actually flat, but she had kept her mouth shut. Chang had always been aggravated of Mulan's scientific jargon that came out every now and then.

And of course Mulan hadn't thrown the magical rock. Whatever it was, Mulan deemed it special. Not abnormal, but special. Being a rational thinker, Mulan wasn't a great fan of magic and the occult or anything like that, so she assumed that there must be science behind this rock. And she was determined to unearth its secrets and make great things out of it. Chang had always brought honour and glory to the Huang Household for the natural beauty of her vivid feathers, but Mulan was determined to bring her family honour and glory as well—not through beauty, but through…well…whatever she had. She didn't know yet what she had, but she was sure she'd find out in the future.

But first. The rock.

She sprinkled iron fragments and observed them sticking to the black ore almost instantly. It amazed her every time. Curiouser and curiouser.

She had in fact woken up hours ago, but she still hadn't had a bath and put on a robe and wasn't cleaning the house as she was supposed to, like all typical Chinese virgins were supposed to do. She had spent all those early morning hours with this peculiar magical rock's company. Well. There were far more important things worth dealing with than putting on a makeup and making yourself pretty in front of the mirror and admiring your reflection. And it is not like she admired her reflection in the first place—through the years of Chang's persistent mockery, Mulan had eventually come to the decision that's he hated her own brown self. She wasn't like other girls, who lived to impress the people around them, because that would be impossible with the way she looked like. No noblepeacock was really interested in marrying someone like the Brownie from the Huang Household, nerd extraordinaire.

Well. It's not like she had anything she can do to change it.

Sighing, Mulan finally decided that it was enough observing the rock for today's morning. She had other household responsibilities, like watering the plants outside in their family shrine, and might as well get that done immediately so she could be back in her desk and observe the rock all day, then finally decide what to do with it. So, putting the lodestone in the drawer under her desk, she pushed back her chair and stood. She opened the windows out wide and then that was when she was tackled to the floor by a surprise hug.

"Yargh!" she screamed, her back harshly crashing against the floor.

"GOOOOD MORNIN'!" said the newcomer, oblivious to Mulan's distress. "Surprise! Didcha miss me? 'Coz I missed y'all _so_ much! I been waitin' for ya to open this window, girl, what took y'all so LONG to wake up? But hey, hey, HEY, people, this one's a brand new day, that's right, I'm tellin' y'all, this is gonna be one AWESOME day so get yourselves outta your stinky PJs and put on a ball gown 'cause we're celebratin' here my DEAREST best friend Mulan's _awesome_ ma—"

"Punctuate your sentences!" she squawked, ever the technical observer. "And how many times do I have to tell you? You are _not_ my friend."

"But of _course_ I am! I been yer loyal bestie for years!"

"We just met a week ago."

"No, we didn't! It was _years_ ago!"

"And all you've been doing is tackle me like this every morning!"

" _Duh_ , 'cause that's what besties do! Don't you know _anything?_ "

It was a rat. Literally. Junjie had tackled Mulan to the floor and was now dancing around, happily scattering painted, colourful leaves all around that was supposed to look like confetti.

"W-wait—Junjie, you rat! What is the meaning of this?" Mulan stood up, gathered her robes, and angrily stomped over to him. "I've just cleaned my room! Stop making all this mess! I'll get the 'Women Should Be Clean at All Times' speech again from Mother if she sees this like…okay, you're not listening. Junjie!"

Junjie was still the oblivious happy little grey mouse he was. He was jumping all around, singing, "My little bestie's gonna get married today, she's all grown up and she's gonna have little chicks and she's gonna name them all after me 'cause I'm her one and only bestie!" with tears of joy streaming down his eyes, obviously having the time of his life dancing on top of Mulan's bookshelves. (A peculiar woman, she was, because the women of China weren't obliged to read and write. But despite what society had declared, _she_ had taught herself how to do so through the years even though her parents were against it. Education, after all, was supposed to only be for the noblemen.)

Mulan just stared up at Junjie in disbelief. This rat was soiling her precious bookshelves with those muddy feet of his, and her bookshelves were her most valuable possessions. It contained her most beloved books, mini-prototype collection of small, seemingly useless devices, (everyone said that they were useless except Papa—only her Papa believed in her—but Mulan was determined to prove them all wrong one day) and mechanical drawings of major machinery that she was dreaming of being able to build someday when her mother finally allowed her to keep her own money and buy the materials herself. And the thought of Junjie's dirty feet _soiling_ her bright plans for her future…

"Honestly! I am angry now, Junjie. Get. Down. Here!"

The sharp angles in her tone cut through Junjie's celebration dance, making the little grey mouse pause in mid-step.

"B…bestie?" he said with a nervous chuckle.

"I'm _not_ your 'bestie'. Get down now!"

Junjie must have realized that he had genuinely irked Mulan this time, after all those years of barging into her room like a party tornado. So he gingerly climbed down the bookshelves and stood at the floor, eyes on the ground, hands behind him as if he was suddenly ashamed of what he hasn't been ashamed of doing for centuries.

Mulan held the bridge of her beak exasperatedly with a wing. "What is it this time, Junjie?"

At that, Junjie's jaw dropped on the floor. "Don't tell me you forgot, Mulan, mah one and only bestie friendie foreverie! This is the great day!"

"The great what?"

"The great day!"

Mulan raised her head to the heavens as if asking it for more patience. "The great day _what?_ "

Junjie jumped into the air, throwing lots of leaves-confetti with him, forgetting about Mulan's earlier anger.

"TODAY IS THE DAY YOU'D GONNA MEET THE MATCHMAKER AND DO A KISSIE-SMOOCHIE WITH YOUR SQUEAKY BRAND NEW HUSBAND, _DUH!_ "

Mulan's mind processed the words slowly and tried to put them together. But when she came to the conclusion, she gasped, stumbled back for a bit, and held her head in her wings, as if suddenly struck with a massive headache.

Oh no. Junjie was right. She'd forgotten. She had been so engrossed in examining her special rock that this day had slipped her mind and she'd absolutely forgotten all about it.

Matchmaker.

Meet.

Husband.

Marriage.

 _Today_.

"Girl? What's with that face? You should be happy and excited and jumpin' around in your PJs, y'know, not lookin' like you've just been plucked outta the water like a bulge-eyed fish. And I'm tellin' you, them bulge-eyed fishes don't look no pretty."

Mulan felt so in trouble that she couldn't even bother pointing out the grammatically erroneous double negative.

"I…I must be going," she said, gathering her senses and grabbing her rock from her desk and putting it in her pocket. That rock had become special for her in the past several days, and, even though people had laughed at her and called her abnormal for being curious about a simple rock, she had just now decided that it was going to be her lucky charm. This was the day when she was supposed to be meeting the matchmaker, and she was late. _Late_. Mother's going to be angry again. The frantic peahen swivelled her body around, then hurriedly ran for the door—

—but in her haste she tripped on the long fabric of her golden nightgown and clumsily lost her balance. She screamed, and, seeing the ground coming up to hit her face fast, she pulled out one wing to take a hold of her bookshelf and steady herself, but it was no use—instead she brought down with her tens of dusty scrolls and she struck the floor and fell face flat, the scrolls and mini-devices and all her documents crashing and piling up on her in a collective clunk.

The door then suddenly opened.

"What's all the noise I've been bloody hearing down there? Brownie, you clumsy idiot!" It was Chang, and she stood before a fallen Mulan, pink wings on her hips, intense blue eyes staring down at her. "What is all this mess about, you troublemaker? Isn't today the day you're meeting the matchmaker? Then why are you still here, you underbred chicken of knuckleheaded brownness?"

Struck with shock, it was hard to breathe, but Mulan managed to gasp out a few words.

"I…I'm s-sorry, sister dear, I…I was just—"

Chang waved her wing at the air as if whatever words came out of her younger sister's beak wasn't worth hearing for her regal ears of nobility. "Whatever, Brownie. Just get down here already and give father his tea, sweep the house, and wash the dishes from last night."

"What?" blurted Mulan. "B-but that's your job!"

Chang smirked. "I'm your older sister, so you listen to me, you bastard, or I'll burn one more of your ridiculous 'scientific documents' today before you know it. Everyone knows you're only _trying_ to sound like a genius with all your 'Oooo-I-invented-something!' claims, anyway, when all you actually are is a clumsy brownie bastard chicken. Now get down there and do your duties before you go to Mother. Oh, and clean your room. It stinks of…"

Chang shuddered dramatically.

"…brownness. Disgusting." Then, with a swish of her colourful robes and a dramatic sway of her head with that long neck of hers, Chang slammed the door on Mulan's face.

Chang was a colourful peahen—pretty, beautiful, _spectacular_ , even, but inside she was rotten. Most definitely. Rotten and brimming with maggots. Of that Mulan was certain.

Mulan groaned as she tried to get herself up. Ugh. More work to do. Thank you very much, you stupid, lazy queen of pomposity who's just as useless in doing household chores as a blithering normal pebble in the road _worthy_ of being kicked at in the behind.

"I HEARD THAT, BROWNIE!" shouted Chang from downstairs.

Mulan sighed. Perhaps she's said that aloud. She had work to do, then. Better start sweeping this place up.

"Junjie, you are going to help me clean all this mess you've made, okay?" she said, grabbing a broom. "Because it's your fault in the first place why this happened." But then, as she looked about her room, she realized that she was merely talking to herself. No sign of Junjie anywhere.

Mulan huffed as she started sweeping the floor, each swish an angry stroke.

"Some best friend you are."

* * *

Mulan had finished her household chores in such a rush that would put even the most devastating whirlwind the world has ever seen to shame. Mulan had even left Chang suspiciously checking under the tables to see if Mulan had somehow hidden the plates there, because it was impossible to wash all the dishes in just barely five minutes. But years of household experience and abuse from Chang like this had made Mulan an expert when it came to cleaning the house—scrubbing the floors, doing the laundry, and sweeping every inch of their humble Ninghong Temple had made her quite the capable woman, strong and immune to tiredness. In fact, she felt so hyper even after all that she has done that she had hastily splashed over herself a drum of water, pulled over a robe she had grabbed from her wardrobe, not even bothering to look if it looked alright in her, and then ran outside their temple to the shrine to meet her father, all in one breath.

It might be an exaggeration, but with Mulan, it just might not be.

"Papa! Papa!" she was shouting as she ran on the pebbled path towards their mini-shrine where her father was kneeling, obviously praying to the ancestors. She saw her father stand up as he heard her voice calling out to him, and he smiled when he turned to see her, and he patiently waited as Mulan ran up the stairs towards the podium.

"Mulan," he started, in his rough yet wise voice, worn out by wars and age, once Mulan stood before him. "I am very pleased that you—"

"Papa," Mulan panted, leaning over a concrete post in a very unladylike way. "Papa…I…brought you…your tea," she said, in between breaths, holding out a cup of tea in her wing.

Her kind, old peacock father smiled, took the cup of tea from her, and put a reassuring wing on Mulan's shoulder. "Mulan, my daughter," he started, formally. "This day is the grand day of your—"

"I know, Papa, the day I would meet the matchmaker, and I am very late," said she. Mulan gathered her robes, stood up straight, and immediately started climbing down the stairs, on the pebbly path away from the shrine. "Wish me luck!"

The old peacock leaned over his walking stick and shouted, "Mulan, wait! Before you go, I shall give you my—"

"Your blessing, yes!" she said, her voice growing distant as she ran very hurriedly. "I accept! Farewell for now, Father!"

"Mulan! Remember, we are relying on you to—"

"To uphold the family honour! Now drink your tea nicely!"

"But Mulan! Your robes! Where did you get—"

"Lovely, aren't they? Thank you! I should be going!"

And, just like that, she was gone just as quickly as she had arrived.

The bewildered father, Liwei, just stood there, eyes wide. It was then when the crickets decided it was time for a musical.

The peaceful silence lasted a while, the father just standing there, frozen and blinking away his utter bafflement.

"My wife and I had indeed produced quite an unusual woman," he mumbled to himself to no one in particular as he took a sip of his tea. Then he put his wooden cup down and went back to praying to his ancestors, pleading them to guide his daughter through today's matchmaking ceremony in all the gracefulness and elegance worthy of the noblepeahen that she was.

* * *

Mulan weaved through the crowd in the marketplace with all the clumsiness and klutziness worthy of the awkward social being that she was.

"Hey!"

"Watch it!"

"Is that Liwei's daughter?"

"A _noblewoman?_ What?"

"Just take a look at her messy robes!"

"Ma- _maaaa_ , that cruel chicken hit me!"

"My sincerest apologies!" Mulan said, looking back behind her to see Little Rabbit crying to his mother, and Mama Rabbit glaring at her with the sharpness of a thousand daggers. "I really hadn't meant it! I'm in a hurry! And I am a _peahen_ , technically speaking."

* * *

"Of all days to be late!" said a panicking mother, an elderly peahen, prancing around and about in front of her cousin Huiliang's house. "That headstrong young lady must have forgotten what day it is today. This is a bad sign…" The mother shook her head in worry and regret. "I should have prayed to the ancestors for luck!"

"Daiyu, is she here yet?" asked her cousin Huiliang, who went outside to join Daiyu. "We need to get started beautifying your daughter to make her at least _half_ presentable to the matchmaker. Quite the troublemaker, your little chick."

"I know," said Daiyu nervously. "That is precisely why I was hoping she would come early, so that I can give her last minute reminders about repressing her clumsiness in front of them for even just five minutes of her whole life. But she isn't here yet. Fifteen minutes late and counting."

"Mother!" interrupted a voice, and both Daiyu and Huiliang looked up to see Mulan running towards them. Daiyu's pretty pink face broke out into a smile and she ran towards her daughter to greet her with a hug. Oh, finally, the waiting is over. But, as she neared, she observed that Mulan wasn't actually running alone.

Her daughter had brought with her a stampede of pigs and chickens and rabbits and oxen and antelopes rallying from behind her, creating a cacophony of protests and obscene languages and all the other things she didn't have the brainpower to recognize, and they certainly did _not_ look happy.

"Mother!" said a frantic Mulan, who almost tripped over her long robes trying to run as fast as her talons could carry her away from them. " _Help!_ "

Daiyu squinted at the sight of her daughter. And what in the name of the Great Grandfather Shang Huang was that young lady wearing? The clothes looked so large and baggy that Mulan looked like a beggar in the streets.

Was she actually wearing the robes of her _husband?_

Daiyu sighed, then held the bridge of her beak miserably. The usual trouble.

* * *

After Daiyu put the stampede to peace by simply standing there in front of them with a face as solidly stiff and imperially cold as an angry empress on fire, Mulan was dragged by her mother inside Aunt Huiliang's home by the beak.

"Ow-ow-ow-ow— _Mother!_ " said Mulan, struggling to get her mother's wing off of her face. Once Daiyu had closed the door shut behind them, she released Mulan and let her have a deep breath first. Then she simply stared at her daughter, a young woman, no, little _chick_ , who she knew was just as fearful from The Silent Treatment as all the other children are from their parents.

"M-Mother…" began Mulan, suddenly nervous standing before her mother. Daiyu's punishments, or, as her mother so fondly called it, _disciplining_ methods, were not really the prettiest memories that Mulan had had as a young child, or as a young woman. Her mother was standing there in front of her with her pink wings crossed over her chest, blue eyes fierce and fiery. Mulan instinctively looked at her feet; her mother's eyes were the most intense blue she had ever seen, even more than her sister's, which was saying something.

"M-Mother," she started again, hating herself for having to explain herself without her Mother even saying a word first. It made her sound all the more blameworthy, but Mulan really couldn't stop the broken words from falling all over the floor from her beak. Her mother's intense gaze itself was like forcibly squeezing them from out of her. "I…I really apologize…for my tardiness, and…and everything else." She then immediately tried to cover that up. "But you s-s-see, Mother, it is sister dear's fault—not mine—because sh…she forced me to wash the d-dishes first and I-I had to run very hurriedly through the streets, and this very cranky p-p-pig was in the way and I had no ch-choice b-b-b-but to—"

"Does a noblewoman stutter?" interrupted her strict mother.

Mulan gulped. "N…n-no?"

Daiyu sighed. "Mulan, daughter dear, I love you, I really do," she said, walking over Mulan and stroking her brown head fondly with a pink wing, "but you have to be disciplined. You are a grown woman now. You have to start acting like one."

Mulan gulped once more. "I am going to be…p-punished?"

"No. Disciplined." Daiyu brought her wing up in the air and snapped two of her primary feathers. "Cousin Huiliang, please throw in the ice."

Mulan arched a long, black, feathery eyebrow. "Ice?"

What sort of punishment, er… _disciplining method_ was this now?

But before she had any more chance of being able to ponder that question over, she was suddenly hauled over by two servants from behind her and thrown into a tub of freezing— _freezing_ —water. It all happened so fast that the only thing that registered in her mind was the first part and the end part, the end part being her freezing in icy water.

" _Useless_ s-servants!" she yelled after the scuttling hens, who were only simply doing their jobs. "Is th- _this_ h-h-how you are _supposed_ to be t-treating a n-noblewoman?!" Mulan demanded, wings flying to cover her body, her stammering not caused by nervousness but by the chattering of her teeth. Then she turned to look at her mother, who apparently was just standing there, ignoring her distress. This irked Mulan quite naturally. "M-Mother!"

Daiyu smirked. "Oh, so _now_ you claim yourself a noblewoman?"

"Mo _-ther!_ I've already b-b-b-bathed!"

" _Bathed?_ How dare you, Mulan, underestimating your mother? I know you. You've just splashed water all over your feathers, threw in a towel, and forgot about it. You do that all the time. So now I'm bathing you myself for this very special occasion." Daiyu hushed the servants out, closed the curtains from behind her, and looked at Mulan sternly. "Now. Strip. Or, I kid you not, I am doing it myself."

Mulan forced her freezing mind to compose a witty comeback for that, wanting her mother to just shoo away and leave her to bathe alone in peace, like normal people do.

But unfortunately, she was not one of those normal people to begin with.

* * *

After the torturous arctic bath and a seeming eternity of scrubbing and splashing, Daiyu helped Mulan to fix her with a ridiculously tight corset to which she had violently protested against wearing.

"Mother, please! I never asked for this!"

"Endure it a little longer, Mulan. You would get used to it. Remember, you are doing this to uphold the family honour."

 _Why is it_ , Mulan inwardly complained, _that family honour is so overrated?_

"But Mother, I _told_ you! It is too _tight_. _TIGHT_. I am going to _leak!_ "

Daiyu sighed, perhaps for the millionth time. "My daughter, no corset has ever made a woman's internal organs leak out."

It was an argument that she of course had lost. After they were done with the corset, Daiyu then left Mulan to the hands of the servants, who had the young peahen's feathers brushed, perfumed, and polished until it shone like golden autumnal amber and smelled of the freshly-picked chocolate flowers from a clove evergreen tree.

"Oh, _please_ , I get it that I'm brown," snapped Mulan to Aunt Huiliang who was tending to her make-up, tired of all her brown metaphors. She had been poetically complimenting her about how she scented and how she looked like, all the while tapping powder onto her face to make her glow. Mulan honestly felt like a thickened clown. She was not used to this much pampering—she was built for intellectual work in an office, not to be paraded around as a man's accessory.

"I do apologize, Miss Mulan," said Aunt Huiliang, who sat back and admired her handiwork by tilting Mulan's face here and there. Then she smirked, proudly made Mulan stand up, and turned her to face the full-length mirror from the wall. "But I simply can _not_ help all those metaphors, because to me you just look absolutely beautiful."

As Mulan was nudged on the shoulder by her Aunt Huiliang to walk forward towards the mirror with an encouraging 'Go on, little flower, see the Chinese beauty that is yourself!', she reluctantly took her steps slowly towards the mirror. She was afraid to see her reflection—she had, after all, been traumatized by her sister enough through all those years for being marked as the brown stain of the colourful history of the Huang family.

Brown. It was dull and unappealing. A colour she absolutely despised and did not want to see.

But she looked up to see herself in the mirror, anyway. And that was when she gasped. Her wing flew over to cover her beak in shock. Her reflection did that, too. It was a confirmation that this dramatically stunning woman staring right back at her actually _was_ her very own reflection.

"Who…is… _this_ …?"

Her brown eyes—no, _amber_ , she must say, were large with awe and seemed to sparkle with the natural wonderment they always felt whenever they saw something magnificent. Under them were a golden glittery sort of makeup material (which she didn't know what was called) that emphasized the sparkle in her eyes and practically made her shine like the sun. And her feathers…were beautiful. More vivid. A darker shade of golden yellow, like the Chinese sun. It was as if she had been painted over with a magical substance that peeled off her former dull brown self and transformed her into a real Lady, worthy to rival even Songzhi's Lady Lan-Niu. (Or perhaps not _the_ Lady Lan-Niu…her sister Chang, maybe?) If, before, Mulan felt like she was being caked and hated it, now she loved it—she would certainly endure it if this pretty face was the price. She was the living colour of autumn, dressed in a cotton golden robe with the symbol of her family crest embossed on the back, rimmed with red ribbons that perfectly complimented her.

Gold and red. Chinese colours for luck.

"Oh, Mulan, my daughter…"

Mulan swivelled around to see Mother standing by the door, looking at her openmouthedly. Mulan blushed from under her feathers. Was this how her sister Chang always felt like, being complimented repeatedly even by just the stares of the people around her?

Daiyu walked forward and stroked Mulan's head lovingly. Mulan relished that second's moment of being in the warm touch of her Mother's wing by closing her eyes and releasing a contented sigh.

"Mother, I…"

"Hush, daughter." Daiyu pulled back and put her wings on Mulan's shoulder as she stared at her transformed face. "You look absolutely beautiful."

Mulan smiled shyly, uncertain how to respond to that. Deny it? Be modest?

"Th…" It was the first time, after all, that she had been told beautiful and she believed it. "Thank you."

"Now here." Daiyu produced from behind her a green gem, jade, emerald, perhaps, and she put it in the palm of Mulan's wing, enclosing her feathers around it. "Keep it to bring you luck. I tried to give it to your sister Chang, but she complained it wasn't up to her standards." Daiyu rolled her eyes. "So, I am giving this to you, from generations of the Huang family, so they would guide you in the rest of your journey. You must go, now, daughter, your father is waiting outside to escort you to the matchmaker. Your sister and I will be waiting for you at home, preparing to celebrate you and your newly found husband."

Mulan tightened her hold around the green gem given to her, looked up at her mother, and smiled determinedly. "Don't worry, Mother," she said, already rushing out the door, "I will not let you down."

Then she closed the door of the room behind her. When she was sure she was out of her Mother's earshot, Mulan hurriedly tumbled over to the drawer, pulled it open, and grasped at the inky-black stone that lay there. Back when Daiyu was bathing her, her Mother saw this stone that Mulan had hidden under her robes. Her Mother had been furious when she found out that Mulan _still_ hadn't thrown this rock away. So Daiyu hid it here. She had hidden it secretly, but Mulan had a very sharp eye.

Mulan clasped her wing around the lodestone, this black mineral ore that had been her loyal companion for a week now. She had, after all, already decided that this was her lucky charm—and, besides, an odd, mysterious black stone fit her personality more perfectly than this beautiful green gem Mother had given her.

But, she still decided to keep both stones under her robe. Who said, after all, that one could not be odd and beautiful at the same time?

Mulan walked out of Aunt Huiliang's temple to greet her tall and proud father at the door, who, almost tearfully, escorted her to the matchmaker's house where she would meet her fate.

* * *

They stepped out of the carriage and stood in front of the temple of the matchmaker. Mulan was shaking with nervousness as she stared intently into the door of the temple, where, anytime now, the matchmaker would be getting out and calling her name for her to go inside. But she didn't _want_ to go inside. What if she would act like her usual self and just throw everything into chaos like she always does whenever she touches anything on sight? What if she messes this up again? What if she fails her family and disappoints her mother? Her father? What would the people around her say, and what kind of badmouthing behind her back would she hear being whispered as they gossiped about her? What if she would be the reason for the stain that would eternally shame the Huang family for the many more generations to come?

 _Oh, dearest ancestors_ , she prayed fervently in her mind, clasping her wings together tightly. _I never thought I'd ever be asking help from dead people, but please, please help me not to make a fool of me._

"Daughter, have you even heard a word of what I've said?"

Mulan snapped back to reality and looked up at her father, who was looking pryingly at her with one feathery eyebrow raised in question.

"Yes, father," she lied. "Of course. I accept your blessing."

The arched eyebrow raised even higher that it might've just touched the sky. "I asked you about how you are feeling today."

"Oh! Um…nervous?" she chuckled tensely.

But before the conversation could prolong, the temple of the matchmaker's Door of Doom banged open and out came a very…large woman of gigantic proportions, especially on the belly area, that Mulan feared the fabric might just rip anytime soon. She was a pig dressed in a long, cherry-blossom-themed Chinese ceremonial robe, her plump, fattened pink face caked with layers of makeup, and in her one hoof she held a writing board with a sheet of rice paper, while in the other a feather pen. The matchmaker took one look on her records, and then—

"Huang Mulan!"

Her stubby voice carried all throughout the town, and she said Mulan's name as if it was the most despicable thing her mouth has ever said with that very unkind and sour look plastered all over her face. Her eyes—grey. Eyebrows—sharp-angled. Five feet tall. Three feet wide. Or wider. Perhaps three point five. Or maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration. Her robe must also be three sizes too small—it barely held the woman's fat body with ease, and Mulan could swear she saw a very tiny hole from the woman's belly area and got a glimpse of her grey underwear underneath. Tiny, very unnoticeable, but the peahen noticed it nonetheless. Mulan also recognized the brand of the matchmaker's rice paper. It was from the shop named _Mister Longwei's Shop of Rice Paper and Pens_. Mulan bought her own stationery there. Nice stationery. But, oh no. Is the matchmaker staring at her? Why is the matchmaker staring at her? Did Mulan do something wrong? Is it over already? Did she just mess up without her even knowing? Is the honour of the rest of the Huang family now destroyed? Oh no, what has she done again?

Mulan, with a panicked face, looked at her side. Her father was urging her with his eyes, as if he was saying, 'Mulan, young lady, I love you, really I do, but stop daydreaming and go over there!'

It was then when Mulan suddenly remembered where she was. Snapping back to the real world, she abruptly raised a wing at the matchmaker as if reciting in class.

"P-Present!"

The matchmaker frowned at her and took down some notes onto her rice paper. "Distracted, stammering, speaking with _out_ permission...and we haven't even begun yet."

Mulan palmed her own head as she walked after the matchmaker into the temple. "Oops."

"Good luck, daughter!" she heard her father calling out from behind her.

"Alright, let's do this thing!" said a new voice.

Mulan was horrified as she stared at her shoulder, where a rat was peeking its head out from under her golden cotton robes.

" _What?!_ Junjie, you're—"

"Excuse me?"

"I—madam, no, I mean, there was this rat—and—and I—" Mulan pointed at her shoulder, but Junjie had already hidden himself underneath once more.

The matchmaker apparently thought that she was being joked around.

" _Excuse_ me?" she said, ominously.

"I…well." Mulan grudgingly bowed her head before the matchmaker, curtsying and almost stumbling over thin air as she did so. "My apologies, madam."

Then the matchmaker shut the door behind them to start the examination. Outside, Liwei, Mulan's father, was left smiling tearfully, thinking, 'My daughter is already a grown woman and is meeting the matchmaker…how time flies fast indeed.'

But, inside the temple in the company of the matchmaker, Mulan was thinking, 'A hundred and thirty-nine seconds had passed since I have come here and counting. Surely I can survive this. Surely I could.'

"You are Huang Mulan?" started the matchmaker, eyeing the young peahen carefully. Then she turned back to her writing board. "But it says here that the daughter of Liwei is a noblepeahen..."

Mulan reddened in anger. How dare this swine say she wasn't Liwei's daughter? "I AM Huang Mulan!"

"Do not raise your voice, young lady! And how can _you_ be a noblepeahen?" The matchmaker peered into Mulan's face, and the peahen had to hold her breath in order _not_ to smell the fat woman's reeking mouth. "You look like an ordinary peasant. A normal hen. You are brown. Hens are brown, peafowls have different colours. Plus, you are caked in layers of makeup. A thin layer of makeup is fine, but yours…too much. Chinese women are supposed to be natural beauties, not transformed by mere earthly substance. Another point subtracted from you." The matchmaker turned around and noted this in her writing board. "Tsk-tsk-tsk…"

Junjie suddenly appeared from behind Mulan and shook his fist over at the matchmaker. "Hey, FATSO! That's _my_ bestie you're talkin' abo—"

Mulan frantically grabbed at his mouth and hid him cleverly inside her voluminous robes, gagging him with her wings from inside her clothing, effectively making the mouse's muffled babblings almost soundproofed. She was thankful for how large her own robes were.

The matchmaker angrily turned around to look at Mulan. "You were _saying_ something?"

"N-nothing!"

The matchmaker narrowed her eyes at her suspiciously, but she nevertheless decided to continue. The large woman encircled the golden-clothed peahen in front of her, scrutinizing Mulan's every inch.

"Hmm," she mumbled after seconds that seemed to Mulan as centuries. The matchmaker shook her head disapprovingly as she noted down her observations in her writing board once more. "Too skinny. Hmph! Not good for bearing sons." The matchmaker once again turned her back to Mulan, still noting down on her board. "You are sure that you are Chang's sister?" she asked, distractedly, while she was busy doing her notes.

Mulan gulped down an angry retort that desperately clawed at her throat, and instead mumbled out, "Yes, m-madam." She was tired of people thinking that she wasn't a part of the Huang family just because she looked physically different.

"Do not stutter," said the matchmaker. "Say it again."

Mulan took a deep breath. _To uphold the family honour._ "Yes, madam."

The matchmaker then impatiently snapped. "Louder!"

 _What_ did _this woman want?_ Mulan thought, who was slowly becoming thoroughly annoyed.

"Yes, madam!"

This outburst made the matchmaker smirk. She took one look at Mulan smugly, and returned to taking down notes once more. "Never shout at your elders," she said, amused laughter and mockery almost seeping through her tone. "Everyone fails that test. That's another minus one point, young lady."

Mulan gulped. How many points did she have left?

"Hey! That's unfair!" Junjie whisper-yelled from under Mulan's robes. The little mouse peeked out from the fabric and jumped down onto the floor. "Worry not, Mulan, my bestie," he said, heroically, "I am going to avenge you." Then Junjie started running towards a nearby drawer.

Mulan had no idea what he was going to do, but she deduced that it would not be good. She tried to run after him, and whispered a yell. "What are you _doing_ , Junjie? Get back here!"

"I'm _avenging_ you, duh, gotta teach that fatso a lesson!" he said, simply, as he climbed atop the wooden drawer. "I'm yer loyal bestie, remember?"

"You are NOT my friend! Junjie! Come back or—"

Then the matchmaker turned to her suddenly, forcing Mulan to freeze and stand bolt upright and smile like a lady in an effort to pretend as though nothing was happening.

"Recite the Final Admonition!" demanded the obese woman.

"Mmm-hmm!" said Mulan, distractedly, her eyes following Junjie as the little mouse reached the top of the wooden drawer. There was a jar of ink and a fan placed on the wooden surface. Junjie the little vengeful mouse thought for a second. Then, a lighbulb moment. He spilled the ink all over the Matchmaker's fan, the black substance spreading as it slowly travelled all the way. Junjie looked up and gave Mulan a thumbs-up.

Mulan stared at him in disbelief. Seriously…

"Well?" prodded the matchmaker, who was growing genuinely impatient now. "Mulan? The Final Admonition?"

Mulan stumbled over to the drawer, grabbed Junjie by the neck and threw him across the room so fast that the matchmaker didn't even see it. Then Mulan grabbed the fan, now wet with ink, so that the matchmaker wouldn't suspect anything of what Junjie had just made a mess of. She then started fanning herself innocently, as elegantly and gracefully as she ever could. It was so fast that the matchmaker didn't notice anything wrong.

She recited the Final Admonition.

"Fulfil your duties, ah…calmly, and…um…respectfully. Reflect before you…snack." Then Mulan caught herself. "I mean, _act!_ Thisshallbringyouhonourandglory!"

She had spilled the last part of her little speech a little too quickly, but Mulan sighed in utter relief that it was finally over. She'd almost been struck by mental block in the middle of that.

But apparently the matchmaker was not convinced. She was suddenly suspicious, and she grabbed Mulan's wing and flipped her fan around to check if there were notes there. When the matchmaker saw none, Mulan smiled nervously. The matchmaker stared at her with sharp, narrowed eyes, and then pulled Mulan by the fan in her wing over to the table across the room. When the matchmaker let go of Mulan's inked fan, the ink was transferred onto the pig's hoof. Then the Matchmaker sat down on the floor with the low Chinese table before them, and gruffly invited Mulan to sit on the opposite side of her.

"Now," the matchmaker said, gesturing at a lone pair of teapot and teacup on the table. "Pour the tea. To please your future in laws," she said, stroking her pink fatty chin, "you must demonstrate a sense of dignity." The matchmaker's inked hooves then traced her face to form an artificial moustache that encircled her mouth. Mulan just stared at her as she was pouring the tea, beak wide open. The sight was hilarious. But then, Mulan realized that the tea was being poured onto the surface of the table, not on the teacup where it was supposed to be poured, so she started focusing on her job and held the teapot in her wings as elegantly as Huang Mulan possibly could. Then Mulan peered into the teacup, now filled with amber-coloured tea.

And the sight shocked her.

Was that…was that the same black mineral-ore she had found on the road a week ago? How on earth did it get here?

"...and refinement. Men look for those qualities in women. You must also be poised at all times," the matchmaker was saying, fortunately not noticing the liquid mess Mulan had just made on the table. The pig was too distracted in delivering her speech, her eyes closed as if expertly. "A girl can bring her family great honour in one way, and that is by striking up a match, and bearing sons to continue her father's lineage. You must be able to demonstrate your grace and elegance as a woman in front of your in-laws…"

But Mulan was still staring openmouthedly at the rock in the teacup. _Her_ rock, her lucky charm, swimming in this cup of tea. What the...how did it...

Then light dawned on her.

Ugh. Junjie. She swore she just saw him winking at her and giving her a thumbs-up in her mind. The idiot with his stupid heroic babblings of revenge.

The matchmaker then finished her speech and took the cup of tea from Mulan, the peahen's lucky rock still in it. Mulan could just stare as the teacup neared the matchmaker's lips, her rock about to be bluntly drank in.

"Um...p-pardon me…"

The matchmaker's eyes bulged out of their sockets and glared at Mulan. " _And silent!_ "

Mulan, helpless, could just sit back there and watch. The matchmaker, satisfied of the subsequent silence, then took her time letting the aroma of the tea seep into her, relishing the moment, even closing her eyes. Ah, the bliss of tea. The matchmaker then neared the teacup to her lips for a sip…

But then she opened her eyes to find the peahen's wings on her cup, nudging it away from her. Mulan had crawled over the table just to get near to the matchmaker.

"How dare you!" shouted the matchmaker.

Mulan was still slowly prying the teacup out of the matchmaker's hooves with both her wings. "Could I just...take that back...for a moment!"

The matchmaker growled, growing angry, and pulled the teacup away from Mulan in one huge yank—but in the effort she stumbled backward and the contents of the teacup spilled onto her chest. The shock of the hot water upon her skin was so much that the matchmaker shouted in pain at the top of her lungs, running around, saying, 'Hot hot hot hot _hot!_ ' with Mulan running from behind her, frantically saying, 'Matchmaker, please, calm down!'

But then something caught Mulan's eye that made her stop in her tracks. Her lodestone, dropped onto the floor, wet with tea, but in one piece nonetheless. The peahen smiled briefly, knelt down, picked it up with a wing, and wiped it with her robe. "Oh, thank goodness you're alright," she mumbled to the rock, and placed it inside her robe.

Now. She had matters to deal with. "Matchmaker—"

But when Mulan swivelled her head around to look at the matchmaker, she could only watch as the plump woman stumbled over her own feet in her frantic running around and she fell backward, her behind falling right into freshly burning charcoal where the kettle boiled hot water from within it.

That was when the howling grew louder. " _Gaaaaaaahhh!"_ she shouted, and turned her now burning behind to Mulan. "GIRL, HELP ME!"

"I…I don't know how!"

"Get the fan over there and _put out the fire_ , you dumb cretin!"

Mulan hesitated. "But madam, adding a current of air to even just a minute ember would augment it and a fire is afterwards inevitable to—"

"JUST DO IT!"

Mulan sighed, grabbed the fan from the table, and rapidly fanned the burning posterior of the matchmaker, who was still howling in pain. But on the very moment when wind was created from the fan, a wildfire suddenly exploded from her bottom and made the matchmaker's howlings even louder.

" _AAAAHHHHHH!"_

Mulan sighed once more. Hadn't she warned her?

From outside the temple, Mulan's father was waiting ever so patiently, preparing a list of possible congratulatory greetings in his mind when his daughter would finally come out of the temple victoriously, having passed the matchmaker's test. Hmm…which greeting is the best? 'My daughter, you have made through it successfully!' Or perhaps 'You have made me the proudest father in the world, my little girl!' Maybe even 'Your triumph is my triumph, dear daughter, and I will make sure to guide you as you produce your very own family with your husband…'

The father stopped thinking, then scolded himself. Ah, well. He was making this more complicated than it should be. Liwei then eventually decided that a simple 'Mulan! Congratulations, daughter!' would be a sufficient enough greeting. In fact, the peacock father couldn't possibly wait any longer for his daughter to finally burst out of the temple doors so he could get her in his wings and pour her with praises. His little girl, now a woman in full bloom.

And then the moment finally came. The doors burst out wide. Liwei's old face broke out into a smile and fought his limp on his right leg as he ran forwards to embrace his daughter, saying,

"Mulan! Congratula—"

But it was not Mulan. Liwei's smile disappeared and turned into wide-eyed horror. It was the matchmaker, shouting around, howling 'Hot hot hot hot hot!' like a madman, her hooves trying to fan away the fire burning on the fabric covering her hindquarters.

Liwei blinked his eyes. How…on… _earth_ …

"PUT IT OUT!" the matchmaker frantically hollered. "PUT IT OUT! PUT IT OUT! PUT IT _OUUUT!_ "

Suddenly he saw his daughter come from behind the matchmaker with a teapot in hand, then she splashed the contents all over the pig's behind. The fire sizzled out.

Mulan, avoiding the matchmaker's eyes as much as possible, handed her the teapot. Then, covering her ashamed face with a wing, Mulan wordlessly stepped down from the temple.

That was when the matchmaker suddenly burst. She stampeded over to a suddenly frightened Mulan, shouting at the very top of her lungs—

"You are a _DISGRACE!_ Get out of my sight! GET OUT OF THIS TOWN! You have shamed the women of Songzhi! You disgraceful _rat!_ "

Junjie had the nerve to be offended and he popped his head from out of Mulan's robe on her shoulder. "Hey!"

But the matchmaker was too stark raving mad, her pupils gone to mere pinpricks. She was waving around in the air the teapot in her hoof and was threatening to hit Mulan in the head with it, and the peahen could do nothing but stand there with terror in her eyes, the scream trapped in her throat.

There was suddenly the sound of a heavy metal contraption being released like a spring when Liwei all too protectively leaped forward in front of his daughter to shield her from the matchmaker's anger, his peacock train feathers spreading out in a spectacular display. He hugged his daughter in his wings and let his train feathers take the impact of the matchmaker's rage. The teapot smashed onto the floor with its shards flying all over the air. Liwei embraced his daughter even more tightly to keep the shards from hurting her.

But, unfortunately, this show of father-daughter affection or Liwei's glorious peacock feathers did not even seem to dazzle the matchmaker for even just a little bit, because she continued ranting out on Mulan.

"You!" she said, pointing a hoof at her, her pink face a frightening display of metaphorical fire, literally splashed tea, and makeup streaming down her face like black tears. "You _may_ look like a bride, but you will never, _never_ bring your family honour!"

"Matchmaker, please!" said Liwei, trying to cover Mulan's head into his wings to protect her from the harsh words streaming out of the mouth of this harsh woman. "She's just a girl!"

"A girl!" the matchmaker huffed. "A girl forever, _never_ to become a real woman! Shame to your family, Liwei!" Then, the matchmaker, with one last angry glare at the peahen whom she now loathed with the fire of a thousand suns, turned her back defiantly, walked towards her temple, and slammed the door so hard that every house of Songzhi practically trembled in fear.

With the matchmaker now out of sight, Liwei now deemed it safe enough for Mulan to be released from under his wings.

"Mulan," he started, and he gently held both sides of her head up to make her look at him. "How did…"

Mulan's vision was suddenly full of water. Her eyes were filling up with tears. She jerked herself away from her father's hold, closed her eyes tightly, and spluttered, "I…I'm sorry, father!" Then she gathered her long robes and began to run very far away, away from all this disgraceful mess.

The old father could only limp after his daughter.

" _Mulan, wait!"_


	3. Lords and Legacies

When the Soothsayer entered the room, the old goat heard the Lord Lì, Shen's father, ranting out the apparent distress that was expressively…expressed on his face.

"—and my wife," he was rambling on, pacing the room back and forth like an agitated pendulum. "Meifeng, that stubborn woman. She deems _me_ at fault—as always—and _refuses_ to talk to me. And she demands that I explain myself. But how can I explain myself if she refuses to talk to me? I don't understand her. As if I didn't have enough responsibility of protecting the whole of China already, she sulks in her room like the moody queen she is, purposefully making me feel even more horrible than I already do. She wants me to resign from being the Emperor's general, or I humble myself in front of my son and ask for his pardon. She is actually insisting that I do _both_ , else she divorces me. Divorces me!" The peacock lord shook his head miserably, crest feathers swaying in response. "The gall of women nowadays…"

Females. Such royal pains.

The giant panda, Li Shan, sat on a chair, pretending to be listening to his friend's ramblings, nodding vigorously as if in agreement while he calmly drank the aromatic green tea that had been generously offered to him. He was used to sessions like this. Usually the peacock lord would call for him and beg him to accompany him in a 'private dinner' with him, being his most trusted friend and all, and, of course, Li Shan, being the loyal comrade he was, would come at any time.

Li Shan observed Lord Lì's train feathers first before talking. They were now flat on the floor, meaning that this certain peacock was now calm. He had known his friend for years and had long since figured out that peacocks, when riled up, usually could not contain the flaring of those fancy colourful train feathers of theirs. The panda humbly smiled, then gently placed his cup of tea on the table.

"Why, my lord, we're the same then. I have a wife that stubborn too." Li Shan chuckled at the thought of his wife—strong, beautiful, a woman of obdurate bolshiness, the love of his life. "But that is exactly the reason why I have fallen for her in the first place. Her stubbornness is just…" His eyes went dreamy for that moment in a second. "…awesome."

The Soothsayer, with a smile on her face, ultimately then decided that it was time to reveal her presence to the two men by clearing her throat.

"Ahem."

Lord Lì bolted straight up at the sound of a new voice entering his audial range, and he whirled around to see the old court soothsayer standing by the door. "A-Ah-Ma!" he spluttered, nervousness suddenly gripping his throat. Did the Soothsayer hear all that he'd said? If she had, and told them to his wife… "Wh-what are you doing here?"

Men. She chuckled. Such simple-minded beings.

There was laughter in the old goat's eyes as she stroked her beard, nearing them by walking towards the two of them slowly. The sound of her tapping cane bounced across the room as she talked. "Yes, my lord, it is I, the Soothsayer, and I fathom that you seem to have forgotten that _you_ were the one who had actually summoned me here."

Lì blinked, blushing a bit from under his feathers. Of course. How could he have forgotten? He really must have been getting old, as Meifeng so often reminded him in half-jest.

The Soothsayer took her seat beside an apparently comfortable Li Shan. The panda gave the old goat one look and regarded her with a grin.

"So, Lì, my buddy, you have a nanny, eh?"

Lì mumbled something under his breath that was both inaudible and incomprehensible. But then he gestured a wing towards Ah-Ma to introduce her to him, and to Li Shan to Ah-Ma, his voice almost sounding as a typical teen's immature grumble. The Lord of Gongmen only showed this side of his whenever his wife is not around or perhaps only to Li Shan and the Soothsayer, his two most trusted people of his royal acquaintanceship.

"Li Shan, this is Ah-Ma, the court Soothsayer. _Not_ my nanny. And, Ah-Ma—Li Shan, my loyal friend from the mountainous province of Shaanxi, where the rest of his kind dwells. He'd come to accompany me to a…private dinner."

"A Soothsayer, eh?" said Li Shan with a friendly wave over at her. "I didn't know you had these kinds of people, my lord." He turned to the goat. "So you mean you can see things, stuff in the future like that?"

The Soothsayer shrugged, light and amusement in her eyes. The gesture was the universal language for either 'yes' or 'no'. Li Shan decided that this was a rather cryptic answer, so he simply gulped his throat down and deemed it a great idea not to utter a word any further.

Ah-Ma took one thoughtful look over at Li Shan's direction, and saw something ethereal, something only a seer would see. There was a bright, almost blinding white aura surrounding him. Hmm. She stroked her beard contemplatively. Curious.

"Do you have any children, Li Shan?" she asked, after a second's internal deliberation.

"Why, yes, my son little Lotus is quite the butterball," he laughed, remembering his roly-poly pudding of a bundle of joy.

"…there is a great future awaiting him," mumbled the old goat cryptically.

Li Shan quirked an eyebrow over her direction. "You said something?"

The Soothsayer shook her head and stared straightly ahead to avoid his gaze. Her face was blank, giving no hint whatsoever—divinity was a dangerous thing that she had learned over the years to handle with skilful hooves. But even so, there was a smile in her eyes. Ah. She saw a bright future in this panda's son indeed—too bright that she could even interpret it without 'Little Lodus' himself being here.

"No, nothing."

Li Shan was still curious, but he managed to just shrug it off his shoulders by sitting back in his chair in a very dismissive manner. "Okay, if you say so."

Lord Lì clapped his wings. "Now then, Soothsayer. To business."

"Yes, my lord?"

"I need your counsel. About something…" Guilt suddenly haunted the Lord of Gongmen's dark reflective eyes. "…someone close to me."

A knowing smile crossed the Soothsayer's face at that moment then. She closed her eyes, then casually stroked her beard as the assumptive words smoothly rolled off her tongue, as was her natural ability. "You are concerned about the condition of the young lord, an implication that you are truly regretful for what you have done. You want my advice on what appropriate approach there is for you to do and make up for the words that had Lord Shen indeed emotionally wounded." She opened her eyes to reveal deep brown irises that bore into his. "With all due respect, my lord, I agree with what Li Shan here had been repeatedly telling you this whole time. Just let Lord Shen see your sincerity. Humble yourself in front of your son. It is enough to mend the clothing, stitch again what had been torn."

The two fatherly Lis—Li Shan and Lord Lì—had the same shocked reactions as they gaped at the royal seer.

"H-how did you—" the panda stammered, unable to start a sentence. "How did you _know_ that Lord Lì here had been asking advice from me all along? And how do you know I've been telling him those exact answers you've just said, all those time?"

Lì shook out of his trance. "Soothsayer, if I even try to make an appearance in front of my son, I might get accidentally stabbed in the neck."

"And you have one long neck over there alright," joked Li Shan. But Lì only glared at him with a laughless face, so the cheery panda ultimately then decided to just clam up.

"Perhaps you should go tell my son, Soothsayer," continued Lì. "Tell him that I have sent you with my apologies. After all, it is you who he trusts more than…" His stubbornly blinked his suddenly misty eyes and turned away to hide that expression on his face. "…than his own father."

' _How dare you say that you raised me?'_

The Soothsayer firmly tapped her cane onto the ground, yanking him back to reality. "No, my lord. You have to personally deliver your apologies to him yourself. He would think that you are busy again with royal businesses, and that these royal businesses are worth attending to than him, which would make him moody again. Quite the over-thinker, your little chick."

"But what if he won't…"

"My lord, please. Are you not brought up by the noblest peafowl in China? Are you not lord of the most industrialized urban centre of the entire province? Are you not the general of the Emperor's Imperial Army? Are you, Lord Lì of Gongmen City, actually _afraid_ to be rejected by a mere teenager?" The Soothsayer knew that what she was doing was manipulating her superior by stomping on his pride, but pride is synonymous to men, and tempting men through pride is usually what gets them started to work. "Are you not young Lord Shen's father? Are you not supposed to be the one raising him to be the peacock that you have always imagined him to become in the future? Are you even _supposed_ to be giving your own fatherly job to a mere soothsayer such as I, who is not even of royal blood? Can you not make a simple, small thing as an apology?"

"No," said Lì, quietly. Then, more firmly, "No. No, you are right. I am going to apologize to Shen myself."

The Soothsayer's expression softened as she stood up, satisfied. She headed for the door, her job here done. "I suggest you invite Shen to go with you to the Emperor's palace, my lord. Haven't you been invited there by the imperial councillor? If you go with Shen to the Emperor's dinner, he will realize your apology's sincerity."

"Of course. Oh, and, Soothsayer."

"My lord?"

Lì looked at her straight into the eyes. "I asked you for a prediction before the marriage. I thought you foretold that Shen and Lady Lan's marriage would be successful."

The Soothsayer smiled a knowing smile, which for some reason irked Lì a bit. "I never said that, my lord. Not the exact words, at least. I merely foretold that the day of their marriage would be the beginning of Shen's life."

"Doesn't that mean the _same?_ "

"Correct, my lord. But it has a thousand more meanings." The Soothsayer looked at him. "Do not trouble yourself with that anymore, my lord. The wedding is past and doesn't need your attention anymore. Your son does."

The moment the Soothsayer had closed the door and was finally gone, Lì let his head fall into his wings, and groaned, now that he was certain that the old goat was out of earshot.

"Li Shan, my friend," moaned the peacock. "I haven't even the foggiest on how to apologize to a temperamental teen. And my son is a teen. Teens are extremely susceptible to mood swings, and talking to Shen, of all peacocks, would surely not end up well."

Li Shan rolled his eyes. "Teens, you say? That's easy. Teens like to talk modern-like. So try talking to Shen in slang. Maybe that would take your father-son relationship on cooler grounds. You know how the teens are nowadays. Maybe he's secretly sick of all these royal formalities and wants to talk in slang with someone in his life for a bit. I learned how to speak slang from the those teens back at the panda village."

"Slang?" questioned a curious Lì.

"Slang," confirmed a nodding Li Shan.

The peacock was silent for a while.

Then, "My loyal panda friend, what are slangs?"

Li Shan gaped at him. "Dude, you don't _know_ what slangs are?"

The confused lord shook his head no.

The panda grinned. "Slangs are a teen's language. You have to talk to slang if you want your little prince forgiving you. Drop every form of formality and talk like cool."

"I know not how to talk like ice."

The panda blinked. "Ice?" It took him more than a second before he got the drift, and when he did, he fought the urge to smack himself on the forehead. "No! No, no, stu—I mean, your highness, not _ice_. Cool. 'Talk like cool'."

"Of course, of course. I know not how to 'talk like cool'."

The panda shot him a finger gun and a smirk. "Lucky you, then, I'm gonna teach you how."

Lì cocked an eyebrow. His friend had just said a peculiar word. Gonna. 'Gonna'? What kind of a word was that?

* * *

The events of the last three days had astounded every citizen of Gongmen City. Or, rather, they pretended to be. Everyone knew of Lord Shen's attitude—he _hated_ women with a passion, which was understandable, because every time his parents presented him with a new bride, the lady always spat out some pretty offensive words against his colour. So, with time, he hated them altogether, with the assumption that every woman of every species was haughty and petty and shallow as they had no other care in the world except the useless makeup on their faces. The cancellation of Lord Shen and Lady Lan's marriage was bound to happen, of course everyone expected that much. But even so, everyone pretended to be shocked about the fiery incident Shen had caused.

After all that had happened between the two, marriage was no longer an option. The palace seers were strictly against it. They said that the fire had been an omen, a warning—a sign that the gods above are not in favour of their union. This basically told the royals of Songzhi that they weren't needed in Gongmen anymore, and they needn't be told twice. So Lady Lan-Niu had left the palace yesterday trying to calm down her wild-eyed father who spat gibberish about how Shen had so unduly disgraced his daughter, that he was a bad omen, a freak of nature, a white dishonour, a disgraceful prince, and blah blah blah. Shen had heard enough of all those tiring clichés.

Shen was still confined to his royal quarters—though, by the third day since the fire, he felt fine. Well, that is, not considering his talons. He'd received quite a burn, and, compared to the time he'd received the wound, it was starting to get more painful by the day. Despite that, though, it must be a good sign. His sensory nerves were starting to be repaired. A fast recovery, thanks to Ah-Ma's strong doses of medicine.

A servant had just finished cleaning Shen's wound, and he was thankful that the painful ordeal was finally over. The servant, that is. His ears had never been quite so bombarded with his prince's unpleasant words. Well, he was used to them, actually, and had grown intolerant of them after all these years, but a small rabbit's eardrums could only take too much. All he could do was bow his head and say, over and over again, 'My prince, this is a raw wound, of course it's going to hurt, now please be quiet and stay still,' even though what he _really_ wanted to say was 'Ugh, you idiot, of COURSE this is going to hurt, now shut your dirty beak up and stop wriggling like a maggot!'

But then again, of course, he couldn't say that. He loved his neck dearly.

After the ordeal, Shen formally dismissed his servant with a wave of a wing, and, like anyone would have, the temporary palace healer had all been too happy to oblige. He had filled in the place of the court Soothsayer, Ah-Ma, who was still resting in bed, confined just as Shen was, or at least that was as far as he knew. He hadn't seen Ah-Ma in three days.) The rabbit packed his luggage and left the room with a smile of triumph on his face, as if he'd just finished battling a legendary monstrosity and heroically prevented the end of the world.

Once the rabbit was gone, the peacock released a sigh, now relieved to have his room to himself again. He stared at the ceiling for a few distant moments, before he decided that the time for resting was past. He'd been confined in bed to rest for more than enough instances in his childhood to last a lifetime. He was not born to become a barnacle, no—he had no time to sulk in his own pity party like a helpless, disabled wag. Time to move on.

He pushed his wings against the sides of his bed in an attempt to get up, and immediately felt a jolt of pain coming from his feet as they accidentally came in contact with the bed's wooden posts. But, unlike earlier, he didn't even release a shout that complained of the pain. He continued pushing himself up, and eventually, to his triumph, he was able to. He gently placed his bandaged talons onto the polished floor, slowly, one after the other, and attempted to walk.

The first step was painful. But what else did he expect? He suppressed a flinch, trying to keep himself steady, and walk on. Steady. Walk on. Keep those in mind. Keep the muscles _moving_. He knew he was disobeying his doctor's direct order—which was no simpler than to rest—but Shen was not exactly someone who took fancy in blindly following an order from so-called experts. Enduring the pain in this little exercise was better than having to lie in bed all day long, doing nothing, achieving nothing. That rabbit he encountered earlier was merely one of those pathetic, stuttering quacks claiming they saw the end of the world through a crack in a bone. He had to admit that he preferred to have the Soothsayer tend to his wounds, because the touch of her hooves was much gentler than that imbecile's.

In a couple of hours or three, Shen's feet became accustomed to movement. He was thankful to himself that he'd agreed to take in the Soothsayer's medicines. Bitter as they were, their effects were astounding. He was already starting to feel better already—although of course, there was still the pain. The prince then decided to grab his Guan Dao and practiced a few kung fu stances, the fragile objects around his room serving him a platter of a challenge: try not to break anything. It helped to divert his thoughts from the guilt of almost having the Soothsayer killed three days ago. Instead, he focused his mind on trying to think of a way to get his feet back to normal again.

He effortlessly twirled his sword in the air, expertly missing the wick of the candle in a candelabrum by a hair's breadth, the metal singing with his thoughts. Hmm. The doctors said that his feet would be totally healed, but that he'd be limp and would be struggling with kung fu for the next five years. Shen wanted to laugh at them— _limp?_ It has only been three days, but look at him now, for heaven's sake! They also said that, with a portion of his train feathers burned, his glides would become unstable from then on and Cai Li F ao would be useless to him, as his train feathers were mainly used for defensive stances of the martial art. They said there was no other way to fix them.

Or rather, Shen thought, their _brains_ had no other way to be fixed. What fools. They kept saying all those same things. They always said there was no way to fix this and that, but Shen knew the truth: they just couldn't admit that they don't actually know _how_ , saying there was no other way _this_ and there is no other way _that_. Brilliant doctors they were, brilliant at making excuses. Pathetic. There was _always_ a way. Always. Those pathetic doctors, always relying on the rules of the medical book. For them, trying to think of something new would be like against the written law.

It was the opposite for Shen. For him, trying to think of something new was a challenge promising him of an innovative future. It gave him a thrill, drawing his excitement from the fact that he could use his brain for something. There was a way to fix his injured feet and get them to full functioning in no time. He just didn't know how. This little conundrum was merely a test by fate.

And he would not let it win.

"Oh, hello, Shen!"

The tension in the air shattered. His focused thoughts were suddenly ripped open by the unusually cheery greeting. Shen was suddenly overcome with shock at the interruption, lost balance, and, with the pain erupting from his feet, fell at the floor with a strangled gasp and accidentally let go of his Guan Dao—which took its path and flew halfway across the room, puncturing the wall beyond the now open door, which almost sliced through an equally shocked Lord Lì's neck hadn't he moved away just in time.

"What! Son!" The father's wing flew to caress his neck in shock, as if making sure it was still there. When you were with Shen, you thought about the safety of your neck often. Lì stomped into the room to kneel down before his son, who was currently trying to keep a straight face despite the pain as he got up from the floor. No such luck. Lì kept on yelling. But this time, though, it was not out of anger—it was out of paternal concern.

"What did you think were you doing, son? Playing with that huge sword in your room? I thought the doctors told you to rest! Look at what you've done to yourself!" He gestured at Shen lying on the floor.

"I wonder if you've heard of a quaint custom called knocking," the prince grumbled.

"What?"

"I _said_ , a _pleasure_ to meet you, father."

Lì decided not to prod anymore though, thankfully. "Well. It's just that I haven't seen you for days. You know how the Council is." He chuckled, but when Shen didn't join him, he stopped. Instead, Lì cleared his throat, stood up, and offered his grown prince a wing. "Here, son, let me help you up."

Shen looked at the offered wing for a moment.

"I can stand on my own," he finally said, and even though Shen struggled to lift himself up, the emotionlessness of his face betrayed it. Lì's wing dropped to his side as he watched the younger peacock get on his feet. He was slightly offended to have been rejected, and on any other occasion he would have been angry, but this time, he figured that he deserved this kind of treatment after all he'd said and done, three days back. That particular day didn't exactly make the loveliest of memories, and probably had even left an unfading scar. For both of them.

Shen stood across him and gave him the stiffest of stares. With the impatience on the younger's face, Lì thought that he had probably been lost in thought for several seconds now.

"Yes, father? You have come to see me. Is there something you require?"

 _So formal_ , Lì thought with a sad smile. Of course Shen had learned that from no one else but him. According to a lecture with his slang professor, Li Shan, all this fancy decorum was the one thing that separated him and his son worlds apart. How come had he only realized it now? If this formality indeed was the one that separated them, then Lì wanted this to change. Starting with…slang-injected conversation, as Li Shan had so helpfully taught him.

"So, er…son," he started, just how his panda slang tutor had told him to. "How's it going?"

On one wing, Shen cocked an eyebrow of confusion at the sudden change of tone. His father never spoke in informal vernacular. Most uncharacteristic.

On the other wing, Lì wanted to smack himself on the forehead at his display of stupidity. A royal should never be caught saying something so commoner-worthy like _How's it going?_ Really. All the etiquette he'd learned, going down the drain. He was going to lose his son's respect for doing this.

"Ah, so I see you've been practicing martial arts. That's awesome," the father continued casually, running a finger onto the surface of a table as if inspecting the texture. But, in actuality, he was just doing it to hide the embarrassment. The overwhelming informality was burning through Lì's feathers, but he kept going on. This was three days' worth of rehearsal, he told himself. Don't waste it. Keep going. "Your handling of your sword was dexterou—I-I mean...you…you were, like, severely cool. You've been hitting this and that and—whoa. All I can say is, you've been doing totally awesome. Like, totally. A hundred and one per cent totally. And did I say you were awesome?" The last part came out as a pathetic squeak.

Twitch. Twitch. That was the most movement Shen could manage as of the moment.

"And, you know, BTW, I've been thinking." Lì acted like he didn't notice Shen's noticeable twitching of feathers. "Let's forget the lab-fire thing. Start over. That good for you?"

Shen was now unduly horrified. What a horrid grammar sense. His father had just stated a broken sentence. _His father had just stated a broken sentence!_

He didn't respond to the presented question.

"And I wanna say sorry," Lì continued. "For, you know. All the things I said. Back then. I just…er…wanna say sorry." Lì cleared his throat uncomfortably, eyes darting to everywhere else but Shen's.

Shen was still stunned. His mind was ringing with chaos. His father had said 'wanna'. Twice. Did his father just say 'wanna'? _Twice?!_ It couldn't be. His father never said 'wanna'. Since _when_ had his father said 'wanna'? 'Wanna' wasn't even a word. 'Wanna' was senseless and inarticulate. Only the illiterate, low-class peasant said 'wanna'. Royals never said 'wanna'. No, Shen's ears must be fooling him. Yes. That must be it. Ridiculous.

An awkward silence settled.

One second. Two seconds. Three. Then four.

Five. Six.

Seven.

…eight.

The older peacock couldn't take it anymore.

"For heaven's sake, Shen," he finally exploded, "say _something._ "

The prince needn't be told twice. Shen caressed his temples with his wings, trying to calm down the uproar inside his brain. His rationality was starting to crash down, all because his father was starting to lose it.

"…please," Shen finally said. "You need not compensate for anything. You can speak normally now." He looked at him pointedly. "And by _normally_ , I mean formally."

Lì gulped, mortification washing over his face. He wasn't like this before. He wasn't _pathetic_ before. Li Shan was right. Having a family had weakened him. "Well…" Now given the permission to become formal again, he didn't know what to say. Shen sighed, perhaps too dramatically.

"You came here because you needed something," Shen deduced, who appeared to be dealing with the sudden headache that had come over him just now. All this informality was getting on his nerves. "You never come to see me unless there was something important. What is it? Just get to the point."

Lì sighed. Formality was the twin of royalty. He couldn't just breach and separate it away from them. Society declared so. It was at that moment when he decided that everything he had learned about slang from his panda friend should be flung out the window, never to be seen again.

"Well, son," he started, reverting to his original formal tone. Ah, bliss. The words rolled off his tongue like milk—he never felt so good being formal. "Are you, perhaps, familiar with Guiren? The highest member of the Emperor's Council?"

Shen nodded. Just once. Lì couldn't help the wing that ran over his face in despair. His son really was already fixed to formality, which, according to Slang Professor Li Shan, was the twin of indifference. Old habits _do_ die hard.

"Well, as you know, Guiren came to me personally last three days ago. He told me something very important." Lì paused for a dramatic effect. "He had invited me over for dinner."

Shen waited for a few more moments, but when Lì didn't say anything more, he cocked his head to the side in confusion. Strange.

"And that concerns me because…?"

"Please." All too suddenly, Lì grasped Shen's wing in a tight grip, the older peacock bowing his head before his son. The sight was like a beggar grasping a passer-by's hand and pleading on him for food. Shen was once again stunned by the action. Weird. Unusual. Out of character. This string of eccentric events was starting to make him wonder if the person before him actually _was_ his father or not.

Shen tried to pull his arm away. "What on earth are you—"

"Please don't resist." Lì raised his eyes up to Shen's. "I have a request from you, and I am hoping for a 'yes' as a response."

"I couldn't agree if I don't even know what I am agreeing for in the first place. The Emperor invited you over for dinner, then. So?"

The desperate father looked into his son's eyes intensely, as if trying to deliver his message through the air. He had never told his son this before. But then again, he had never done such a humiliating act before. He was astounded at himself for the amount of sacrifice he'd just poured today, all for the sake of bringing his son back to him. All these years, he'd been a terrible father, concerned with nothing but royalty. Well, that was responsibility, and one could not turn away from one's duty, but royalty was not all that mattered. Sometimes, relationships do. Three days ago, he'd broken his relationship with his son, puncturing a hole far deeper than the one inflicted by Shen's Guan Dao on the wall. Now was as good a time as any to re-establish it, fill the hole back with sand, and strengthen it with cement.

So, he heaved a breath, and, with a shaking voice, he finally said the awaited words aloud, as if every single syllable caused him a massive drain of energy—not to mention pride.

"I…I request that you come with me, Shen. For the dinner with the Emperor."

This gave Shen pause. Yet another shocking thing for his father to say. Shocking, yes, but, strangely…not unpleasant. His father was deeming him worthy. Worthy enough to come with him to have dinner with the Emperor. His father was not afraid to show to the Emperor himself that he was white and deformed—no, he was even inviting him, _pleading_ him to come with him. Shen almost accepted it.

But then a voice whispered inside his head. And that voice was his father's.

' _No son of mine is a coward, would dare run away from his duty, and would disgrace me like this one just had.'_

No. His father was lying. All of this was acting—just…just pathetic, old school acting. So Shen wordlessly pulled his wing away, and turned his back to his own father.

Lì's crest feathers flattened. He had expected this. He deserved nothing less than rejection and a turned back. He decided he should probably leave.

"Very well, then, son. You may continue your training. I…I apologize for the disturbance."

The disheartened father turned to leave. But then a movement—and a voice—from behind him stopped him.

"…when do we leave?" asked the young prince in a whispery voice.

* * *

After that meeting, Lì had confiscated Shen's Guan Dao.

"It's just too dangerous a plaything, Shen," explained the father to an angrily wailing Shen. "I am disposing of it."

Shen could have done more wailing, but he knew that he would never win an argument when his father was set in a decisive mode. So he just decided to go along with it. He had to be cleverer in hiding his knives inside his robes, though, because once his father knew, his mini armoury would be completely empty for the rest of his life.

After having convinced Shen to come with him, Lì immediately called for the palace servants to prepare food and clothing for the duration of the journey that they are about to embark on as a response for the Emperor's invitation. Gongmen City is not far from Fuzhou, where the Emperor lives, in fact with the new system of transportation developed by Lì, the Imperial City was merely two and half days away by chariot. Shen, however, was not pleased upon knowing this.

"Two days!" he had hollered, to which his father could only awkwardly groan in response. His son really had to get a lesson in anger management. But could Lì blame Shen? He himself was very susceptible to anger—maybe Shen had even inherited it from him. "Two and a half days of travelling, all for an old cat's request! That is extremely preposterous!" The prince continued to ramble as he pranced dramatically over the tiled floors before his father, all etiquette lessons about not raising one's voice to your parents and all those things now becoming useless whatnots to Shen. "I could have used that much amount of time for my research—"

"Shen," Lì had interrupted, fighting the urge to run his feathers over his face in frustration. _Patience_ , he told himself. Perhaps Shen would learn in time to do just the same. After all, like father, like son, right? "I have not forgotten my decree that you are not to touch a single grain of gunpowder any again." Then, noticing, the stiffness in Shen's expression, Lì softened his, lowering his volumes to paternal tones. "This is a request made by the Emperor, son. I couldn't just refuse."

And, unfortunately, even though Shen had wanted to open his beak to snap back at him a pithy retort, he couldn't refuse either. His father was right. And besides, this dinner invitation was probably the only way for the father and son to mend their mistakes. Shen, in spite of his arrogant self, chose to cooperate and at least give his father a chance.

At last they had arrived at the Emperor's imperial palace. The imperial servants had treated them with utmost hospitality, from the lavish rooms to the welcoming services which Shen was forced to be grateful of, or at least look like he was grateful of. His father Lì could be very demanding.

After having waited for night to come, the servants announced that the Emperor had finally arrived home just recently from an appointment with the Imperial Council. The servants escorted Gongmen's royals to the dining hall, where they were warmly greeted by an old Emperor sitting on the far side of a kilometre-long mahogany table, which was brimming with food only worthy of a royal.

Much pleasantry was exchanged between Lord Lì and Emperor Fuzhou, to which Lord Shen could only roll his eyes on. Royal life. Too much flowery whatnot. Why don't these people just get down to business? If China was in danger, why did these two adults look like they had all the time in the world? Shen thought that the Xiongnu were no sort of creatures to be trifled with. Led by the vicious gorilla Donghai Khan, these were a massive group of wolves that had come from the North and said to have come to seize control of China. They were slow-moving, yes, but that does not level down their capacity to kill and ravage. Shen had heard stories.

And they were not nice.

 _Wolves_ … Shen's eyes grew distant at the thought of them. But then, when he realized what he had been thinking about, he slapped himself mentally, then banished that mere inkling of a shadow of a thought at the very back of his mind.

"…and this is Shen, my son, heir of Gongmen," Lì was proudly saying over at the Emperor, whose kind eyes flickered over to the white peacock seated near him. Shen sent a brief, curt nod of acknowledgement over at the old red fox at the mention of his name. The Emperor smiled, obviously expecting Shen to smile back at him—but no, Shen tried to, but somehow his beak felt too heavy for him to do such arduous thing. The Emperor frowned.

"I am pleased to say, your most honoured imperial Excellency," continued Lì, "that my young son is quite the inventor."

 _Your most honoured imperial Excellency?_ Shen thought. Another eye-roll. What a pompous addressing title.

"…Shen?" prodded his father, and the young lord averted his eyes to see both the Emperor and Lord Lì staring at him questioningly, though his father's eyes were glaring at him more pointedly than ever. "What have you to say to our Emperor here again, son? Tell him about your blueprints and your experiments."

Shen decided to cut to the chase. "This is farcical, father. You are the general. You are supposed to be discussing battle plans with the Emperor against the Xiongnu, not blathering on about domestic life when China is at stake."

Lì's face was then flushed with mortification as the Emperor laughed warmheartedly at him. "You are a shrewd one, are you not, young lord? But you are correct." The light on the Emperor's face was immediately overcome with darkness at that very moment then. He remembered his enemy, and he remembered how they had slain his mightiest warriors, Oogway and Kai, and he remembered his people, whom he must protect. "General Lord Lì, I want you on the battlefront once more, and indeed I have sent you here, not for us to have pleasant talk, but to talk of China's future."

"Very well, my emperor." Lì cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed of his son's misbehaviour. He was merely trying to patronize Shen. At least _he_ was trying to mend their relationship. The older peacock shot a look to the younger, his eyes clearly stating _We are going to have to talk about your talking manners later, young man,_ to which Shen simply shrugged off, as if to reply, _Why, father? I have merely tried to push the conversation to its very purpose. We have no time for pleasantries._

And so, with much courtesy to Shen's brusqueness, the meeting started. Both the Emperor and the General were on a heated discussion about tactics, men, soldiers, training, preparations, and battle necessities. Shen quietly listened to their conversation and occasional debates on matters as the minutes slowly ticked into hours. They were discussing about how the Xiongnu had stolen their weapons, had immobilized the army of Oogway and Kai, had ravaged the cities outside China and are already approaching the Great Wall, about the Xiongnu's leader Khan, the Xiongnu's wolf soldiers, the Xiongnu's brutality this, and the Xiongnu's dangerousness that. It was quite tedious, hearing them talk about the Xiongnu over and over again without progress.

As they talked, Shen decided to have a little internal debate himself. He laid out the facts before him. The Xiongnu were an army of wolves and gorillas led by Donghai Khan. They had raided the Imperial Army's secret military equipment base far off from the Great Wall, and are near approaching the Wall at this point in time. The Xiongnu had a thousand ravaging wolf and gorilla warriors. They had brute, strength. But luckily they are not moving as fast, much thanks to the smaller defences built outside the Great Wall, which should hold them off for a while. But Shen knew that the Xiongnu would get past them eventually anyway, so a concrete army is needed to stop them.

China had the best warriors from Oogway and Kai's army, but they were now lying in ruins. Only the Imperial Army was left as its hope, and the Imperial Army had long since been out of the battlefield ever since Oogway and Kai reigned the land as its warriors and claimed all battles with their triumph. The Imperial Army had been inactive for years, but now that the great warriors are gone, the responsibility immediately befell on them. So, they had the ill-numbered and weakened Imperial Army, second-tier to Oogway and Kai's army. China had nothing else. And, usually if there was nothing else, it had always been Shen's maxim to _make_ something else. Force it out of his mind if he had to. The young lord's brain cooked up all the possibilities in his mind, thinking hard.

He presented himself with two questions.

What did the Xiongnu have that China didn't? To that, Shen had an immediate answer. Strength. Numbers. Brutality. The glory from having defeated Oogway and Kai. With these, the Xiongnu obviously had the winning hand.

And, what, in turn, did China have that the Xiongnu didn't?

…It took him several moments to think about it. Shen could not even come up of an advantage that China could have against these dangerous brutes. They had numbers, yes, but skilled, _professional_ warriors…? Almost all skilled warriors had been sent along with Oogway and Kai, but had been defeated nonetheless. And there was not enough time to train new recruits into perfection. China was doomed.

It was not a very promising thought.

He thoughtfully picked on his leafy meal as he pondered these questions for a bit. He let everything pass through the thorough 'Will it work?' filter on his mind, disposing those ideas which were of no use and entertaining those which had possibilities.

And his thinking paid off.

Something suddenly occurred to Shen. It was a colossal thought. This was the moment that all of history's greatest masterminds crave for—the moment when raw intelligence bears actual fruit. His eyes widened, crest feathers rising in zeal.

It was the inkling of an idea. A brilliant idea. He tried to contain his excitement by taking a smooth sip of his tea, gulping down that excess emotion of exhilaration along with it, before he decided to take the plunge.

He cleared his throat loudly enough, eager to present it.

The Emperor and Lord Lì stopped talking and looked at him.

"I have a suggestion," he proclaimed, pleased by the listening silence. "Let us not focus on the Xiongnu. Let us focus on our Imperial Army. My Emperor, with all due respect, your fear of the Xiongnu is interrupting with your thinking capacity that renders your ideas absolutely useless. And, father, sir general, again with all due respect, it surprised me that you are only nodding along to what the Emperor here is saying, when what he's all actually saying is rubbish. You are supposed to be _discussing_ with him, not patronizing him like a loyal lapdog."

The Emperor gaped, not of anger, but more of amazement. He had never met anyone with a personality as strong as this before. 'With all due respect', Lord Shen had said. 'With all due respect'? What kind of respect was this? Surely, only a person with a mind strong enough would be able to deliver these words out of his mouth in front of his imperial highness himself.

His father's reaction, however, was not as royally astonished. Upended, insulted, and displeased were better terms. Lì's crest feathers tightened and he glared at his son. This was the one thing that he had always feared about whenever he brought Shen with him during private dinners with other sectors of imperial China. Sometimes Shen may get too snappy and rude to the people around them, complaining to him all the way home about how hard it is to put up with people 'of lower intelligence', as Shen often collectively called them.

"You are saying then, young lord, that it would be wise _not_ to talk about the Xiongnu?" said the Emperor when he finally caught back his tongue. "Knowing one's enemy is important in formulating battle tactics, to know how to use their strengths and weaknesses to _our_ advantage."

Shen gently put his cup down onto the table with a soft _clink_. "Important, yes. But I am afraid that it is not more important to knowing thyself. Our own army is our priority here. We lack men. Soldiers. Weapons. And since the enemy has all of them, we need to counter it with our own numbers." He opened his eyes and laced the primary feathers of his wings, elbows propped up on the table. He let his intent red gaze land onto the old fox's impressed ones. Apparently the Emperor was not used to being lectured by someone most definitely younger by him in decades.

The Emperor decided to test him. "But it is important to know thy enemy, young lord. The philosopher, Sun Tzu, had stressed that if you do know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory you gain, you will also suffer defeat."

But Lord Shen, being the noble son of a martial, had been a fond reader of Sun Tzu's philosophical books himself. "True, Emperor, Sun Tzu had said that." He smiled slyly, knowing fully well that he was only being tested by the old fox. "But he had also said that if you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle."

The Emperor, impressed and satisfied, sat back in his chair with a smile. "You have gained my respect. I am listening."

Lì tried to interrupt. "But, my emperor, I had already prepared a plan on my own—"

"And yet your son seems to have fresher ideas," finished the Emperor. "Listen to him, Lì." He passed him a deep, knowing look. "For once."

Lì gulped down a retort. Shen blinked, surprised of the tone of voice that the Emperor had used when he talked to his father. It was almost as if the old fox knew their entire father-son relationship story, which, of course, with the paranoid brain inside his head, sent a chill up Shen's long spine.

"Now, Lord Shen," said the Emperor, yanking him back to reality. "Enlighten me."

Shen cleared his throat and presented his ideas.

"If you say, then, that Masters Oogway and Kai's armies haven't survived against the enemy," Shen spared a brief, apologetic glance over at his father, "then our Imperial Army, led by my father here, General Lord Lì, whose soldiers are mostly old and even less skilled, would have no chance. We have to get new recruits. Penitentiaries should be emptied. We could use the manpower of the prisoners to China's own victory, instead of letting them go to waste behind bars. And men. I say, General, Emperor, that one man from every family must serve in the Imperial Army. That must increase our numbers. Captains should be promoted and drill sergeants assigned. No family is exempted."

"All families should offer one man?" challenged the Emperor. "And leave their children fatherless, their wives as widows, should they die in battle? China would be left with nothing if they all d—"

Shen's red eyes sharpened. "They would die in honour."

The Emperor managed to summon a smile. "You have the willpower, young lord." The smile then disappeared. "But I could not possibly sacrifice the blood of my people who haven't even had enough time to train. This is unfair for them."

Shen had the urge to slap on the old red fox's face and shout, _Are you an idiot, old man?!_ Because, honestly, this emperor thought too much of his people's safety this and his people's safety that, that he wasn't thinking straight, as a mastermind should be. He was too…soft-hearted. Shen could not see this weakling fit as China's emperor, so that must be why he needed the general to assist him. He was a peace-loving leader, unaccustomed to war, since all these years he left that job to Oogway and Kai. And, now, look how it turned out: in times of distress, he could not even make battle plans of his own. Shen had the feeling that the Emperor had once been a masterful tactician, but that skill had been worn off by the years since Oogway and Kai came along to steal all the opportunities of sharpening it. Those mighty show-offs. They were the reason why his father's Imperial Army had weakened.

But despite his hateful thoughts, Shen kept his patience. Disgusting as it was to admit, Shen _was_ lower a nobility than the imperial Emperor before him. So, instead of calling him an idiot like he does to everyone else, the white peacock drew out a long, patient sigh.

"Emperor. In battle it is natural to sacrifice. It is better than for us to lower our flag and surrender. So we fight. And charging to battle naturally comes with blood and death. We shouldn't even be arguing about this." He looked at him straight in the eye. "As much as possible, I want this conversation ended. We need concrete action, and I wish to participate in it, as to continue my father's legacy."

"Legacy?" Lì piped up. "What on earth are you _talking_ about?"

"General Lord Lì, with your permission, I am going to train the new recruits," Shen said boldly. There was without even a hint of a waver in his regal voice, crest feathers standing high up, a ghost of a smile giving a touch of light on his dark, serious expression. He looked straight into the eyes of his shocked father, but Shen held it. Firmly. "Appoint me as one of your captains. I am ready to face battle."

Stunned silence followed that statement. After all, it was not every day when you heard a young novice like the young Lord Shen announce that he was going into battle against a brutal army. This idea was crazy. It was suicide.

And, apparently, with the shock written all over Lì's face, he did not like it.

Shen had, of course, expected this reaction. But he maintained calm, even looking a bit arrogant as he let a smirk grace his lips.

"Present your arguments, please. I am ready."

The Emperor could do nothing but sit back there and watch, admiring this young man's courage.

Lì eventually worked up the voice to speak. "Shen. No. I am not allowing you this. You can't yet face battle—"

"Why? Because I am weak?" Shen had been playing this 'because I am weak' card on his father for years. For all his bravado, it was Lord Lì's weakness, and Shen was a master when it came to the art of manipulation. "Is it because I am sickly since childhood, that I am not worthy to follow in your footsteps, sir general? Father, I have been studying the philosophies written on the art of war, and I'd hate for that to go to waste. The Xiongnu are Fresh tactics are waiting to be unveiled, and I believe I can help in making China rise in victory." He looked into his father's eyes. "You do believe in me, don't you?"

Lì looked troubled. He had, after all, just gotten out of a fight with his son, and he didn't want to be the one shattering that last shard of fragile relationship they had left by staring into those red eyes, demanding him, pleading him to agree—but then destroying it by saying 'no'.

Meanwhile, Shen held his red gaze. He was manipulating his own father, he knew that. And that all he'd said were lies. No, he didn't care about bringing China victory, he didn't care about the Xiongnu burning the entire land into ashes, he didn't bloody _care_ about anything. But this was the only way. The only way to prove to everyone that...

A faded memory flashed through his mind. He remembered that time when peasant children cowered in fear before him. Bad omen.

He remembered Lady Lan-Niu's face as she stared at him in horror. Monster.

He remembered his father looking at him with utter disgust. Disgraceful son.

He remembered them all.

Shen clenched his wings, eyes burning with hate, and anger, and determination.

…winning this battle was the only way to prove them all that they were _wrong_.

"You do believe in me," Shen repeated, but in lower volumes. "Don't you, father?"

"I…I do, son. But…" Lì looked uncertain, and that was saying something. He was General of the Imperial Army, for heaven's sake. "Don't you think that training the new recruits is too much work for a novice? For you?"

"Do you really think _that_ lowly of me?" Shen was indignant. "Me? _Novice?_ Father, this is the reason why you have been bringing me to military training and kung fu lessons ever since I was young. You said it is a way to protect myself, and my people, when time comes. And here is an opportunity. It is time to put me to the test."

The mighty General of the Imperial Army was brought to speechlessness.

"But you—I— _we_ —"

The Emperor stroked his beard wisely as he looked over at Shen. "It would be wise, Lì, if you appoint him as junior captain."

"What? No, I am—no. No, your excellency, I am not sacrificing my own son."

 _Sacrificing?_ Shen thought. His father talked as if he was going to die. Of course Shen would not let that happen. Shen would throw his own soldiers into the battlefront if it could buy him time to flee for his life. After all, Shen was a royal, and his royal blood is worth more than all of those smelly cretins' combined.

But what came out of his mouth was a much nobler statement. "I am willing to die for China, your imperial highness, but that I cannot achieve honour for our empire if General Lord Lì, my father, keeps on hindering me because of his paternal worries. Understand that this is a war. Feelings are irrelevant. Command my father to appoint me as captain."

"Shen!"

"Hush, Lord Lì. Your son wants to die in honour, and he is determined to serve the empire by training several of the new recruits."

"The Imperial Army could do it," said Lì, who tried to keep his voice steady, although desperateness still managed to creep in. "Please, emperor. We won't need new recruits. Shen won't need to be sacrificed and d—I mean, he wouldn't have to _contribute_ anything. I believe that I, as General of the Imperial Army, could defeat the Xiongnu. We could manage with our current resources and we wouldn't need more undertrained soldiers. We wouldn't need more. Please, Emperor, my son could not see battle—"

"Whyever could he not?" demanded the Emperor in a strong voice. "A single grain of rice can tip the scale. One man may be the difference between victory and defeat."

Lì was still colossally overwhelmed with the idea that he was going to battle the Xiongnu along with his son, but he nodded at the Emperor anyway, albeit stiffly.

Shen, however, had a satisfied smirk on his face, the kind where one thought that he might be planning something else, something far, _far_ more devious, aside from the one which is already apparent. Lì shook his head at him. It was as if Shen throwing himself into a pit of fire to be left there to suffer the infernos for eternity had been the smartest idea that the young lord had had in a long time.

The Emperor stood up, the private dinner session apparently over. "Guiren!"

A pig scribe who had been hiding in the shadows all this time immediately scuttled over to him. "Yes, your majesty?"

"Spread out all over China and send conscription messages to each and every family," he said, determination in his eyes. "I have decided that every man from every family must serve in the Imperial Army." He looked at Shen pointedly, sharing a smile with him. "No exceptions."

* * *

It so happened that this private dinner with the Emperor had happened three days ago. By this time, Guiren's messengers from the Imperial Palace are actually already nearing their way to Songzhi—the humble place where Huang Mulan lives.


	4. Weakness, Willpower

After the unfortunate—no, _disastrous_ incident with the matchmaker, Mulan sobbed her way back home, silently creeping behind the Ninghong Temple. That was where she usually stayed whenever she needed to be alone. It was a lovely shrine, peaceful with its fountains and bamboos and various other ornamentals worthy of a noble family, but she was too miserable to admire a second of the moment. She sat onto the grass behind a cherry blossom tree, where she was out of sight and no one could hear her weeping. She did not want her mother or sister or, mostly, her beloved father, to see the utter failure that she had just made of herself.

The young peahen was distressed. Her robes were crumpled, her feathers dishevelled, and her makeup destroyed, the lighter colours clashing with her original, ugly brownness, as her sister Chang always so lovingly spat at her face. The sun was slowly setting now, the sky displaying an orange late afternoon, and Mulan had done nothing all day but sit here and cry out all her tears until she had nothing left. By the time her self-proclaimed best friend, Junjie, decided that it was time to haul her out of her dark shell, Mulan was already as broken as a dysfunctional toy doll. Her eyes were staring blank ahead, her face the expression of expressionlessness.

"Uh…hey, girl?" said Junjie, who was creeping up to her slowly, as if careful not to provoke a tiger that might snap any moment now. "Are you…alright?"

"Yes. I'm alright. I'm alright that this is all my fault." She said this matter-of-factly, not a hint of emotion in her eyes. "I'm alright that I cannot show my face to my family anymore. I'm alright that I've disappointed Father most of all. I'm alright that I've disgraced this family, its future generations, stained my father's noble name, and I'm p-perfectly, _perfectly_ alright th-that it—it is—"

Finally, she cracked, and from it spilled a cascade of uncontrollably angry sobs.

"That—that—" she hiccupped, burying her face in her wings—"that it is all— _my_ —fault!"

Mulan didn't know she had tears left, so she cried all of them out, spilling it onto her wings. Junjie awkwardly stood across her, not really knowing what to do. He wasn't really an expert when it came to listening sob stories, all he really knew what to do was to annoy people, but for Mulan, his bestie, well, perhaps he'd give his comforting skills a try. After all, it was no fun annoying Mulan if she was crying. She was sobbing hysterically, perhaps a bit _too_ emotionally for his liking. Mulan simply looked… _miserable_ , sitting there, head buried in her wings as she cried her eyes out.

He fought the urge of his mouth to spit out a snarky comment. Ugh. Girls. Typical.

Junjie approached her cautiously, one tiny mouse paw put in front of him, as if he was about to touch her comfortingly. "Now, now, bestie…it's not your fault."

That immediately got her to stop crying. She raised her head up slowly from the refuge of her wings, and it looked to Junjie as if her eyes were slowly widening as reason touched them.

"Y…you're right," she said, the words forming in her mouth, little by little. "You… _are_ right. It's not my fault." Then, she angrily rounded on to him, pointing a feather that might as well have been an accusing finger.

"It's _your_ fault!" she exploded.

Junjie fell onto the floor on his back, Mulan's angry shadow towering over him. " _What?_ " he stammered, terrified of the fragile peahen in front of him. "I—I didn't even do _nothing!_ "

" _Nothing?_ You're saying it not _your_ fault? If it hasn't been for _you_ and your stupid meddling of other peoples' businesses, sticking your ratty nose where it doesn't even belong, then I wouldn't even be _crying_ here!"

"But Mulan, I—"

"STOP IT! Save your voice, I would never listen! _You!_ " She was acting uncontrollably now, her clenched wings shaking with rage. Her voice had reached a volume that he couldn't even imagine could come out of her. Who knows what else a woman could do when pushed to the edge? " _You_ are the one who caused fire to the matchmaker, _you_ are the one caused shame to my family, and _you_ are the one who caused disgrace to _myself!_ "

"But—but—but I was only tryin' to _help!_ "

"Well, _stop_ trying!"

"Bestie—"

" _Blast it!_ How many times do I _have_ to tell you? I am _not_ your friend, and _never_ will be, you cursed, bloody, _despicable—!_ "

Junjie stared up at her with horror-filled eyes.

"M-Mulan, snap out of it, _please!_ "

Mulan was breathing heavily from out of a fit of rage, but the horrified look on Junjie's eyes made her stop and return to her senses. She blinked her eyes, as if just waking up from a trance, and suddenly realized that she was holding a wing up in the air, in a position as if she had been about to strike her little friend.

"Oh." Then her disorientation turned into horror for herself. Her eyes grew wide, a shocked gasp flying out of her beak. She quickly drew her wing back, and took a steps away from Junjie, suddenly afraid of what she might have done in that blind fit of anger. She took one look at Junjie, and from the genuinely horrified look on his face…

"Oh—oh no. What have I…wh-what have I…" Her voice was trembling, lost in a whirlwind of emotions. "I'm…I'm sorry, Junjie, I…I've lost control, I—I'm really—"

"Ah…that?" said Junjie, trying to sound cheerful. He grunted as he staggered to his feet from up the ground, dusting the dirt off of himself. "Nah, really. It's okay, bes…ah…Mulan. I understand."

"It…it's just that…" The tears started flowing down her eyes once more, clouding her vision with water. "M-my father, my mother, my sister…e-everyone will look down on my family in disdain, and it's all…b-because of me. A disgrace. A stain, and a…a…perhaps a bastard. Perhaps Chang is right. Maybe I was just a wretched, adopted bastard all along!"

She fell onto the floor and was sobbing uncontrollably once again, and all Junjie could do was stand there like a barnacle.

"H…hey, look up, girl," he said, approaching her, then putting his small paw onto her shoulder. "It's not the end of the world. There, there, now. Everything'll be alright, I promise. Don't you cry no more for me, woncha?"

But Mulan did not stop crying. Junjie grew helpless.

_Girls like to pity party on their own sob stories, don't they?_

But then he remembered something. Something his own Mama used to tell him back when he was still a young mouse, crying when he was upset.

' _This warm tea will soothe you, little one.'_

Then, a lightbulb moment.

"Wait for me for a minute here, okay, Mulan?" he said, then immediately rushed in secret to the Ninghong Temple's kitchen. He knew exactly the way past the receiving room, the living room, and the dining room, because, well, he did this every day. After pouring a bit of left over hot water from the kettle, he rushed back to Mulan with the hurriedly-made cup of tea in both his paws.

"Now," he said. "To relax with ya. Drink this." Mulan raised her tearstained face and saw Junjie holding out the cup of tea before her, coaxing her to take it. "I brewed this baby mahself, y'know, and if y'don't stop cryin', y'all be lookin' as scary as that fatso with that mascara of yours."

Mulan smiled. At least she wasn't alone in despising that matchmaker. She took the cup of tea in her wings.

"Thank you, Junjie."

"Anytime."

"I…Junjie…?"

"Yeah?"

"I…I'm jealous." Mulan stared at her reflection in the swirly mirror made by the brown liquid on her cup. "I'm jealous of… _everyone_. You are so lucky. To be able to look at your reflection and proudly say, 'Yes, that's me.' To celebrate the fact and admire it. To not loathe this image…" Mulan's wings tightened around the cup, clenching around it like an iron grip. "…for even just a second."

"Wha—what? What are you _talkin'_ about?" Junjie tried to play it off lightly. "You're pretty, you're brave, you're smart…you're anything an awesome girl can ever be!"

" _Pretty?_ " she scoffed. She placed her teacup onto the ground, where she can see a reflection of herself onto the murky water—the helpless expression of a shamed failure. "You're lying. I'm not pretty. I of all people should know that. I look like an old hag beside a royal family whenever I'm with my own. The damp cloth beside silk. The stain beside the laces. The disgrace among the nobles."

For some odd reason, Junjie found himself unable to form words, awkwardly looking at everywhere except at the peahen's eyes. He could never understand why women got so touchy whenever talking about their looks.

"Ah…well…"

"Brave? How can _I_ be brave? I can't even speak straight words in front of that matchmaker. I can't even defend myself whenever Chang forces me to wash dishes for her. I can't even stand my own ugly reflection for goodness' sake! I'm just a pathetic c-crying little girl who couldn't do anything but m-make a…a disgrace of herself!"

"Mulan, you're _way_ too underratin' yourself, y'know that?"

Mulan stood up from the ground once more, then walked forward, her head raised up to face the orange sky.

"And _smart?_ " She laughed, a mirthless mocking sound. "I wish. But perhaps Chang is right. I'm not intelligent. I'm not curious. I'm _innocent_. It's all in my head." She then produced the lodestone from inside her robe. "And this rock? I'm so stupid, it's _just a rock_. What am I thinking, that I could make great things out of this? Stupid! I'm just a gullible little girl obsessed with gullible—little— _things!_ "

And then she flung the rock into the air, never to be seen again.

Junjie shot up, alarmed. "Lassie! What do you think you just did? I thought that was your lucky charm!"

"You can have it! It has brought so much luck on me so far that I don't want it anymore!"

"But—"

"Junjie, just…" There was a crack in her voice, an onslaught for another sob. "Just _go._ "

Junjie took one worried look over at her, inwardly debating if he should follow her orders or be just as usual, annoying and stubborn. With a sigh, Junjie then eventually decided it best to leave her alone to her thoughts. He burrowed down to the soil and travelled subterranean towards his nest, where he couldn't be anywhere near Mulan's sight.

Mulan took a look back to see where Junjie had previously been. She didn't want to admit it, but…right now, she did need a friend to talk to. Even if it had to be Junjie.

She shook her head stubbornly at herself. _Don't think about that annoying rat_ , she thought. _It's best that we wouldn't have to see each other again._

But then, the sound of metal gently scraping against the ground could be heard.

"My, my," a new voice suddenly exclaimed, and Mulan gasped when she whirled around and realized that it was her father, who had joined her in their little cherry blossom shrine. He smiled down at her, his old, gentle eyes gleaming kindly. "We have such wonderful blossoms this year, don't you say, daughter?"

The young peahen turned away, bowing her head down to face the ground, cheeks aflare with shame. Mulan didn't think it worthy for herself to even look at her father right in the eyes.

"But look," continued the kind father, who pointed at a cherry blossom from a nearby branch which was still a humble little bulb amongst a hundred others that were already in bloom. "This one's late. But I bet that when it blooms…" Liwei put a feather under his daughter's chin and turned her head to face him. His beak stretched into a gentle smile. "It will be the most beautiful of all."

Mulan let herself smile as well. She was lucky that she had him. Her father, always the comforter. He had done more consolation than Junjie ever could.

Father and daughter stood there for several moments, basking in the peace of China's flavescent late afternoon. The grass beneath their feet bowed their heads to the wind, their robes a flowing mass of expensive fabric as they responded to the wind's direction. The cherry blossoms from the low-hanging branches swayed in the cool breeze, and the sound of the flowing waters from the fountains filled up the tranquil silence. Mulan closed her eyes. She had never been this close to peace in her entire life. Simply knowing that her father still accepted her despite all the horridness that she had done…

It was enough.

"…Father?"

Liwei, who looked at peace, opened his eyes to look down at Mulan's bright brown ones. "Yes, dear daughter?"

"I…Father, I… _really_ —"

But then she was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a loud gong.

_Bong! Bong! Bong!_

The two peafowl automatically craned their long necks over to the north, where the watchtower stood guard from outside the city borders. It rang on, a never-stopping series of hammer furiously pounding on brass metal. It was the sound of the citywide alarm, which had only been used for two times in Mulan's lifetime. The gong could only mean one thing. Danger. He and Mulan could swear they heard the entire city share a collective gasp of surprise, followed by a collective wave of worried murmurs.

Mulan blinked, and looked at her father. "Papa, what does that mean?"

She knew what it meant. Of _course_ she knew what it meant. A little girl couldn't just go through the most traumatic event in her life as a child and then forget about it after a few seconds. The memory followed her, seeping even through her nightmares. She thought she had the memory long banished, but it looks like as if it had somehow stayed at the darkest recesses of her mind, ready to wreak havoc at the signal of a trigger.

She couldn't believe it was happening again.

And apparently, her father couldn't, too. Liwei's eyes widened, beak parted in a horrified expression of disbelief. "No," he murmured weakly. "No. It can't be. It just _can't_ be. Not…" His rigid grip on his walking stick tightened to extend of having his primary wing feathers break on the pressure. "Not _again_."

Mulan gulped fearfully. "Again?" Yes, she knew what was probably going to happen, but she had hoped so desperately that what she thought was _wrong_. So please…not again. "But father, what do you mean? It's not… _again_ , is it? Is it?"

Liwei looked at his daughter's eyes, but then immediately regretted it. What he saw in those big brown eyes of hers was nothing even he could ever stomach. Her eyes were communicating helplessness, faith, and hope when there wasn't.

_Please. Please, Father. Tell me that everything will be alright, and that nothing wrong will go on. Life will flow as it does every day. I will do my everyday chores, and Chang will leave the household to be with her husband for a year. I will wake up every morning even if it is Junjie's face I have to see first thing. I will be happy. Just let it not be…_

"Liwei!" someone suddenly shouted, and the father looked up away from his daughter's intense gaze to see his wife, who was running towards him. She grabbed his wing and started to lead him outside, carefully minding that he had a limp on his right leg. There was the sound of metal gently scraping against the ground as Liwei's large, spectacular fan of train feathers lay flat onto the floor, the coloured eyespots following him from behind wherever he moved.

"But Daiyu, my wife, calm down!"

"Oh, Liwei, my darling, but I cannot! There is urgent news!" said Daiyu, Mulan's mother, her tone reaching a worried note. "The Emperor's councillor had come here. _Here_. Guiren. _Guiren_ himself! The Imperial councillor, actually setting foot on our humble city! This must be bad! They wouldn't be sending the court's highest official if—if the news isn't _that_ grave!"

"Um…Mother?" asked Mulan guardedly, who, as a woman, was very susceptible to letting the emotions of others contaminate her own just as easily. She stepped forward towards her parents cautiously. "Is there…something I should know?"

Liwei and Daiyu froze. They looked at each other.

Mulan was rendered confused by their reactions. "What is it, Papa? Papa? _Mother!_ "

"Mulan," said Daiyu, so gravely that it sent chills down Mulan's spine, "get inside the temple. And don't peek out."

"But Mama, I—"

Daiyu turned around and glared at her.

" _Now_."

* * *

Imperial men marched towards the city central. They were clothed in royal red, clad in steel helmets, iron breastplates, and metal kneepads that bore the symbol of the Fuzhou Empire—the image of a dragon breathing fire, engraved like battle scars.

A pig led them, cutting through the murmuring, anxious crowd like a knife. He was short and stout, as was the typical characteristics of his species, but no one dared insult him, as people got out of their houses to witness this unimaginable visit. The pig held his head high, his other armoured companions trailing behind him. Besides from the Fuzhou symbol on his royal robe, on his one hoof he held a feather pen, and in the other a writing board of rice paper—a foolproof indication that he was a scribe, _the_ personal scribe, of the Emperor himself.

Councillor Guiren.

"Citizens of the Capital of Songzhi! I bring a proclamation from the Imperial City!" he announced in a loud voice indeed worthy of a royal councillor. The crowd stopped their worried murmurings and fell into a hush, their full attention now directed onto their unexpected guest. Guiren paused, closed his eyes for moment, then gathered the courage to speak out the terrible news. Putting on a fierce face, he opened his eyes once more, and declared,

" _The Xiongnu are to invade China!"_

Air was gripped out of the atmosphere as the terrified crowd sucked in a collective gasp. A terrified mother rabbit enclosed her small infant in an embrace to block out the horrible words, and fathers forced their listening children back into their respective houses, all as if they could have protected their youngsters from these wolfish brutes by such meagre actions. Even the mere mention of them, the Xiongnu, had this sort of gripping effect on people.

"…by the order of the Emperor, one man from every family _must_ serve in the Imperial Army!" Guiren continued saying. Then, he called up an assistant from behind him, and the humble antelope gave him a scroll. Guiren unrolled it, and started announcing names. "The Xiao family!"

A man standing in front of the house from across Ninghong Temple stepped forward and claimed the scroll handed over to him by Guiren. Liwei and Daiyu, as they watched him get the scroll, exchanged a worried look at each other.

"The Wen family!"

A goose kissed his wife's head lovingly before stepping forward and grabbing a scroll as well.

"The Fa family!"

An old bearded warthog started to reach out a hoof and grab the scroll from Guiren, but a younger warthog, his son, presumably, bravely stepped in front of him, almost as if in a protective manner.

"I will serve the Emperor in my father's place!" he said, standing tall and head held high, his voice booming with honour.

Guiren nodded approvingly, before handing the younger man his conscription scroll. Then he looked back at his list…

"The Huang family!"

Liwei and Daiyu looked at each other. Then, the older peacock, determination burning in his eyes, handed Daiyu his walking stick, the wife feeling as miserable as a discarded cloth as she held onto his walking stick tightly. Then, Liwei walked forward, just before the imperial councillor, his magnificent train feathers trailing before him with a metallic scraping sound following him from behind.

"I am ready to serve the Emperor," Liwei nobly said. Guiren nodded once, prepared to hand him the conscription scroll, and as the peacock was reaching out his wing, there was suddenly an indistinct flash of _brown_ —

"Father, you can't go!"

Liwei stumbled backward in shock of seeing his daughter before him. "Mulan!"

The young girl protectively put a wing in front of her father in order to prevent him from going any further. "Please, sir," she pled before Guiren, "my father has already fought bravely, and I—"

" _Silence!"_ ordered Guiren. Then he turned to Liwei, his voice reaching up an octave higher than a scolding one. "You, sir. You would do well to teach your daughter here, to hold her tongue, _particularly_ in a man's presence!"

Mulan's eyes widened, staring in shock up at Guiren. His words had implied…oh no. What had she…

"Mulan." Liwei's voice from behind her was strict and firm. She twisted her head around to see him, and walked towards him to spread her wings and capture him in a hug, but Liwei raised a wing to stop her in her tracks.

Liwei turned his head up, but he was facing away from her, almost as if telling her that she was too despicable to be even worth looking at. "You are a disgrace. You dishonour me."

Mulan fell into more shock, plunged right into cold, dark water to steal her breath away, so much so to the point that she felt faint. She stumbled backwards, and she felt her mother's wings wrap around her to straighten her, coaxing her to go back inside the Ninghong Temple for tea. Mulan absently followed her mother's orders, who was trying to explain to her the complexity of the situation and that she shouldn't let anything get to her. But Mulan was barely even listening. As she and her mother walked away, only one thought went circling around and around the young peahen's mind, still numb from shock.

_Father…Papa, did you just…did you just call me…a disgrace?_

Meanwhile, Liwei, who was still outside, was forced to keep a straight, rigid face in front of Guiren. The scribe looked down at the peacock before him as if in disgust, but then eventually handed him a conscription scroll anyway.

"Report tomorrow to the Moo-Shung Camp!"

Liwei grabbed the scroll. "Yes, sir."

Then, the elderly peacock turned, walking towards their humble temple with his large train feathers trailing from behind with a metallic scrape, the approaching rumble of the storm clouds from up above…ominously promising a fateful night.

* * *

The atmosphere that befell onto the Ninghong Temple that night was sober. The Huang household seemed to have been put inside a delicate vase, wherein one little noise could shatter everything and force all walls to collapse in on itself. All this boredom was starting to chew onto Chang's pink feathers, and it was annoying her. So then, eventually, Chang had decided to do that one thing she loved the most—beautifying herself.

Chang had ordered her younger sister to get up and fetch her makeup set from her room. Mulan grudgingly got up, muttering under her breath about lazy queens of pomposity, and retrieved the makeup set from her sister's room, which had been placed reverently on her desk.

However, on her way back, the young brown peahen thought she heard a faint noise. Although it was raging with a storm outside, showering torrential downpours of rain, Mulan was certain she heard the distinct sound of metal scraping against the floor, the sound of the _whoosh_ of train feathers. Mulan knew that peacocks only ever used their train feathers whenever instinctual agitation kicks in.

Oh no. Her father.

As worry made its way to the young woman's heart, Mulan ran through the small hallway, her talons softly running over the wooden floor until she came up to her father's room.

"Father, I—"

But she immediately stopped in her tracks at the sight of her father before her. He was reverently holding a sword with his blue wings, slowly unsheathing it. Mulan covered her beak with a wing and hid behind the door, but she did not yet leave. She craned her neck a bit and slightly creaked the door open to watch…

Liwei paced the room, performing a few basic stances he'd learned from back when he was still in the army. He swirled his sword here and there, occasionally swishing his train feathers to either give him a second's lift or defend himself as if from an invisible attacker. All of his movements were accompanied by a sound of metal scraping against the floor, or metal clanging softly against each other. He was not anymore an expert, and it was evident in the way his old wing shook as it held the hilt of his weapon, but nevertheless it was a colourful dance that entranced Mulan for a while. But the enchantment did not last long.

He lost control of his train feathers and so did his balance. He fell, and Liwei howled in pain as his leg hit the ground. He lost his grip of the sword as it clattered metallically on the floor. He was a silhouette of an old, ailed man in the orange lights on the wall, crying in pain as his wing flew to his right leg. It burned in exploded agony as he gripped it to try to ease it down.

Mulan gasped at the sight of her tormented father, and attempted to enter the room in order to help, but stopped herself just in time. No…she can't. She was a disgrace. Her father was still upset with her, after having had dishonoured him in front of the matchmaker _and_ imperial councillor, both in one day. Repressing tears of helpless anger, Mulan instead took a step backward, then fled for the dining room, wiping her tears onto the sleeve of her robe. She gave Chang her makeup set with a smile, pretending that she saw nothing at all.

* * *

Dinner brought all the family members to their table, as was the traditional Chinese custom. They had empty bowls of rice piled atop each other before them, their tummies already filled. They were, instead, each having a pleasant cup of tea with a very alluring aroma. She wasn't aware of what this tea was called. She had tasted this before, but only twice in the past. According to Mama, years of tender pruning and careful handling even through the weather's toughest adversaries helped to make such a unique flavour.

But with the silence hanging over their heads like a grim reaper's scythe, Mulan, and the rest of her family, couldn't find the heart in it to enjoy their tea. Her mother was stirring her tea, Chang was tapping at her wet beak with a napkin, and her father was sipping from his cup. Mulan looked down at the table and wrapped her wings around the little teacup, where she found a murky reflection of herself staring right back at her. Mulan slowly brought the teacup to her beak, preparing for a sip…

But then she couldn't take it anymore. Ceramic banged against wood, and a feminine yet imposing voice took over the air.

"You _shouldn't_ have to go!"

Daiyu worriedly looked up at her daughter, who had defiantly stood up from her seat, her large brown eyes glaring right through Liwei. The peacock looked no less indifferent than he had been a second ago, casually sipping his tea as if he hadn't even heard her. It was an impressive show of reticent patience, which only infuriated the young girl. The mother peahen turned to her frazzled daughter. "Mulan—"

But Mulan didn't want to talk to her. She wanted to talk to her _father_ , and even if he chose to keep unresponsively silent to anything a disgrace ever said, then _listening_ to her words would have to be more than enough.

"You have to listen to me!" The young peahen dramatically put her wings in the air, gesturing out the window where the village was still in full chatter. "There, you see? There are plenty of other young men to fight for China! You don't _have_ to do this!"

Liwei kept his head held high. "It is an honour to serve my country and my family."

Mulan was sceptical now. "Ah, then, so, Father dear," she fawned, her voice rising to a sarcastic octave—a tone she rarely used. "You'll die for _honour?_ "

Liwei thunderously rose from his chair and towered over Mulan, his voice a heavy, menacing whisper. "I'll die doing what's _right._ "

She kept her head high, bravely facing her father, even though her trembling knees were already set to collapse. "What's _right?_ Putting the orders of the Emperor first _before_ the sake of your family— _that_ is _right?_ You are merely bound by superficial rules, Father, made by those with power to suit themselves!" Then her voice softened, that tone of scepticism gone as soon as it came. She lowered her head, a restrained sob staining her voice. "Please. Sometimes…disobedience is the only way, Father. _Please_ don't go to war. I…beg you."

"Dishonour, Mulan. I wish not to bring our family name more dishonour than it already has."

Mulan blinked back angry tears. "But you've already brought honour to our family. You've joined the army years ago, you almost d… _died_ serving the empire, and look what it brought you! I was so afraid you've never make it back home. But fortunately, you did. And unfortunately," Mulan gestured at Liwei's train feathers, "…not in one piece. And if it hadn't been for me and my _inventions_ ," she looked pointedly at Chang, "then you wouldn't have been able to attach that fake set of train feathers without _my_ metal contraptions!"

"Stop it, woman," cautioned Liwei, who was very well looming over the edge of his patience. It was hard enough for him to admit to himself that he'd lost his train feathers, his peacock manhood, during the old war, and his daughter saying it aloud was too much for even him to bear. "I'm warning you, Huang Mulan. Don't say any more."

"And what if _that_ happens again, Father?" dared Mulan, still staring straight at her father despite her tear-filled brown eyes. "What if the luck you had back then suddenly decided it wouldn't work for you anymore? What if the sword actually cuts your _head_ instead of that train of yours this time? What if—"

Liwei was a storm of anger as he pounded his wings on the table to shut her up. He stood, towering over her, voice thunderously booming as the lightning from outside cracked in an ear-splitting clap.

"I know my place! I advise you start learning yours!"

Mulan drew in a shocked gasp, a step backward away from the man who was her father. Her mind was in a muddle. He had never shouted at her before. He had always been gentle, and kind, and…and…

The young peahen threw her head into the refuge of her wings and fled from the dining room, sobbing as she ignored her mother's pleas for her to come back. Liwei, however, couldn't believe it himself that he'd actually shouted at his beloved daughter. His eyes were wide with shock of himself, and he slowly descended to sit on his chair, his gaze a blank stare as he continued sipping his tea all the while ignoring the scolding glares of his wife.

Chang, who was apparently oblivious to all this drama, hooked a feather to her teacup's handle and brought it near her face to grasp the heavenly scent.

"Ah. Very lovely. Where did you get this tea from again, Mother?"

* * *

Hours.

She had been waiting for them to go to sleep for _hours_.

Thunder clapped and lightning clashed, turning the dark night into blinding day for a fraction of a second—before being drowned by darkness again. The rain was a noisy band of pattering against the roofs, and every time lightning flashed, shadows grew long and flickered to life, before being engulfed by the night again.

Mulan had stayed cooped up in the corner of her room, waiting patiently for the time to pass until her family members were off to bed. She made sure that she was as quiet as a mouse, and that all candles in her room were extinguished, so as her family would not suspect her still being awake. The storm was a loud raging tempest, but in her stillness and sharpened senses, she was still able to hear the faint voices talking from outside her room. She tentatively raised her head up from her knees and saw the silhouettes of her mother and father through the paper wall, illuminated by the orange light of a candle flame.

"Your daughter is correct, Liwei!" seethed Daiyu, her tones hushed. "Apologize to her _now_. You don't _have_ to go to this war, do you? Is it more important than your family?"

Liwei's silhouette lovingly held her head in his wings. "But my wife…you _are_ important to me. I am doing this for you. For glory, for China, for honour—"

The elderly peahen pulled away from her husband, releasing choking sobs. "Oh, hush you!"

And as Daiyu's shadowy outline ran away in tears, her husband could only hang his head in his wings in despair, obviously trapped between choices, not knowing where to stand. He blew out the flame of the candle, and then the silhouetted show was gone.

Mulan strained her ears to hear his footsteps towards her parents' bedroom, where he joined her mother. Once she heard the sound of a paper door sliding to a close, she slowly counted to three hundred before she can finally assume that her whole family had already retired for the night. Chang was not a problem. She had been sleeping in her room an hour ago. Mulan knew, because their rooms were adjacent and she could easily hear her loud, unladylike snoring.

She knew it was time to go. She made no space inside her mind for hesitation—she was going to go, no matter _what_. She stood up, grabbed an empty travelling bag, walked silently towards her door, and slid it open as silently as she could, before fleeing down the narrow corridors of their humble temple. She moved with the stealth developed from years of trying to escape during the night to continue sketching her mechanical designs for small devices on her workstation. Except, tonight, her intention was not to go to the workstation, and second, she was not certain that she would ever be coming back again.

She went into the kitchen and snatched three loaves of bread. She filled a flask with water and stuffed it into her travelling bag. Next, she snuck into her sister Chang's room, tiptoeing to her desk to grab at the makeup set that lay on the mahogany top, before loading it into her pack as well. Then, after she closed Chang's paper door as silently as she could, Mulan walked down the hall, and stood before her parents' bedroom.

Heaving a huge breath to calm down her pounding heart, she slid the door open as silently as she could, and stepped in. She walked to the far side across the room, making her steps as softly as possible, towards the spot where Liwei's train feathers hung by the wall. Mulan admired it for a moment, staring at its regal colours with enchantment in her eyes. Her father's train feathers never failed to impress her every time she laid eyes on them—a dramatic combination of blues, greens, and touches of black and gold. It had been an unfortunate tragedy that his father's feathers had been cut off from his body by an enemy who had tortured him back then, when Liwei had been given the job to sneak into enemy territory as an imperial scout. Liwei fortunately made it out of the ordeal alive, despite his cut feathers, but he had never been the same—he rarely smiled, much less laugh. If the rest of the Huang family were traumatized by this event, then Liwei had been mortally damaged for life. A peacock's train feathers were a peacock's pride—but once gone, forever gone.

A week later after that incident of the war, China made peace with the enemy, and Liwei made it back home. It was only days after when a friend of his knocked onto their door and showed them the fallen train feathers of his peacock friend, which he managed to gather under methods unknown. He knew that the cut feathers would be of no further use to Liwei, but he returned them still, telling him to keep them as a sign for what he did for China.

Liwei sent his gratitude towards his friend and displayed his train feathers onto the wall, managing to sew them back together with the help of Chang and Daiyu. Mulan had been of no help then, since she had no such talent in sewing, for which both her mother and sister often rebuked her, saying that it is a woman's duty to learn how to mend and sew broken fabric—or, in this case, broken train feathers.

However, Mulan had other talents. She remembered, back when she was still at the tender age of twelve, that as she stared up at her mother and sister's sown masterpiece of Liwei's train feathers, her mind had whirred rapidly, her eyes seeing things unimaginable for a young Chinese girl to think of, and she had felt that natural inclination of a young scientist towards an invention—the thrill of creation.

So, she had stood on top of a chair, tiptoed up to reach the high wall, and unhooked the sown train feathers from where it was hung. She then excitedly ran outside their humble temple and stayed inside her workroom for days, tinkering for a way, for _something_ to create, her excitement even sometimes overpowering her need for food or water. Oftentimes she had to steal some equipment from her mother's kitchen or her sister's accessories to accomplish her device, and eventually, she emerged victorious.

She remembered a young figure of herself running up to her father excitedly, who had been busy praying in their shrine back then. She had pulled onto him by the wing and lead her towards her 'secret workstation', all the while ignoring her father's pleas of 'Calm down, little one!' and 'Careful! You're going to trip over that rock!' Then, eventually, the ordeal was over, and father and daughter both stood in front of Mulan's self-made home base/workstation.

"Oh…so you are going to show me something, eh?" her father had said, panting slightly, though with laughter in his eyes.

Mulan then remembered herself smiling widely at her father before opening up the door of her private workstation with a dramatic 'Tada!' She also remembered her beloved father being rendered absolutely speechless once he saw the sight before him. The young Mulan eagerly jumped up and down and ran towards her creation. She carried it by the main contraption attached to it, and went behind Liwei, where she expertly fastened the mechanical metal device onto the place where it originally belonged to begin with. She fiddled with the device a few more times to ensure that it was securely attached, and Liwei could only stare at wonder at her little girl…and how lucky he felt to have been her father.

"Done!" declared Mulan, when she was finally finished attaching her recreation of his train feathers. She stepped back to admire her handiwork, then released a satisfied ' _Phew'_ as she wiped her brow with a wing. "That should do it, father. Test it!"

Liwei's beak had dropped to the floor and he swore his eyes were filling up with tears as he stared at his new tail. He tested it for a bit, swaying it over the floor gently left and right, the sound of metal scraping over the ground. After having gotten accustomed to the new weight on his tail, Liwei then dramatically flared his feathers in a fantastic display of colours, a feeling of indescribable happiness welling up from within him.

Liwei didn't cry. He never cried. He only cried whenever the emotions rising up within him became too much to bear and the pot of container had no space left to fill and the water just _had_ to overflow. He stared up at his train feathers. A peacock's pride, beauty, honour, dignity, and mark of royalty. It was his most prized possession, and having had them cut during the torture of the past war had been a traumatic experience for him. Ever since he'd lost them, he had been plunged under the dark assumption that something once lost can never be returned.

But obviously, that isn't true. He had once lost his train feathers…

He looked at his daughter, who was smiling up at him expectantly, huge, intelligent brown eyes anxious for him to say something.

…but Mulan had brought him back.

"Well, father?" she said, a bit of apprehension seeping its way into her words. "Do you…like it?"

Liwei smiled tearfully, the first real smile ever since he'd gotten back from the war. Then, she engulfed Mulan in his feathers, gratefulness overwhelming him and knocking down his usual peacock bravado in fatherly love.

"Thank you, daughter."

But then Mulan was yanked from out of her dreamy fantasy when she heard something shift from the darkness. She silently gasped, and, alarmed, she turned her head to face her parents' bed, where Liwei and Daiyu lay asleep. Mulan heard his father mutter a bit in his sleep, groaning, and, fearing that he might wake up anytime soon now, the young brown peahen stood up on her tiptoe and unhooked her father's train feathers from the wooden peg, holding it firmly by the metal contraption. Then she hurriedly fled the room of her parents, who, thankfully, had _not_ woken up.

She gathered a few robes from her father's wardrobe and packed it into her bag. Then she wore her father's armour, sheathed his sword into its scabbard, and, with a determined look into her eyes, attached her father's train feathers to her short, female tail. She looked at herself in front of the mirror—the guise of a true warrior was almost complete. Nothing could distinguish him from a boy: she had made sure to dull her face a bit from feminine features through the art of cosmetics. Perhaps enduring Chang's long speeches about cosmetics had paid off, after all. But, even so, one more problem remained: her unappealing, brown feathers were an impossible contrast to the magnificent splash of colours of her train feathers. It was obvious enough. People would find out immediately that her train feathers were only a costume.

Well, no matter. That was why she had grabbed Chang's makeup set—to change her brown colour overall. She would need a lot of paint, but a few stains of colour would have to suffice to colour the body parts which were not clothed in fabric.

Then, several minutes after, she was ready. She put away Chang's makeup set into her travelling bag for future use. While Mulan's neck was the colour of the sky with a few hints of brown here and there, her wings were the strong colour of cobalt blue. She left her face mostly brown, except for the crown of her forehead, which she had painted a subtle olive green that blended nicely with the surrounding auburn. She tried to stand upright, to be strong, in front of her own reflection on the mirror, but she knew deep inside what she was really feeling.

Terrified.

That night, she made the decision of her life. The bravest feat she had ever done. Mulan decided that there was no turning back from this now. She grabbed her travelling bag, slung it over her shoulder, and opened the doors that led out to the dead of night.

A new voice spoke to interrupt. It was Junjie, and he was trying to warn her to stop this insanity. "What are you doing? Are you _crazy?_ What if they found you out? What if they—"

Mulan didn't have any idea how he got there, and why he was in her residence in the middle of the night, but her mind was already too consumed by willpower to let anything break her down.

"I am going to save my father," she said, voice hard and steely, "and _you_ stay out of the way."

She did not spare Junjie any more of a glance. Then, ignoring his pleas for her to come back, she took the last steps from out of the safety of her home, and ran through the rain, head held high even as she approached the abyss that was her fate.

 _For Father_ , she thought, chanting those two words inside her head over and over again. She was weak, yes, but because of love, her willpower was strengthened—nothing could stop her resolve now.

_For Father._

* * *

It was morning, and the blue sky from the outside indicated that the weather was much happier than it had been last night. Hopefully the good skies predict a good fortune.

Chang got up from her bed and stretched. Then she walked in front of her life-sized mirror, as was her everyday custom, since seeing the sight of her beautiful self was always the perfect way to start the day. The first thing she noticed, of course, was her face's need for beautification. She walked to her desk, but then she couldn't find her makeup anywhere.

"My makeup…" Then her eyes widened when she spotted a fallen brown feather on the floor. "So Mulan stole it! Argh! The brownie!"

Chang was so angry she could've been last night's personified storm. She slammed open Mulan's paper door as she slid it aside.

"MULAN! My makeup is—"

But then, she found that she was talking to no one. Hm. Unusual. She then proceeded to search for her all around the house but the Brownie was nowhere to be found. Chang may not appear to be like it, but she did have a smidgeon of care for Mulan, even if she'd never admit it of course. Now worried, Chang burst into her parents' quarters and announced,

"Mother, Father! Mulan is gone!"

Liwei got up and his eyes fell automatically to where his train feathers hung from a peg onto the wall. But his feathers weren't there. Neither were his old armour in his closet, and a few clothes had been clearly snatched out of his wardrobe. He went into Mulan's room, panting with the difficulty presented by his right limp, and found on her bed a hurriedly scribbled note. That was when his last night's fears and nightmares suddenly became into reality.

"What? It can't be..."

"Father, I know you," said Chang, who stopped Liwei from going anywhere by putting a wing onto his shoulder. "Don't go after her any further. It was her decision to be killed."

Her mother sent her a withering look. "Chang, please, this is not the time to be impertinent!"

"But Mother," said Chang, whirling around to face her. "If Father goes after Mulan and she is discovered, then the entire Huang family will be forever shamed."

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Daiyu. "Liwei, you must go after her!"

"No," breathed Liwei, whose expression was that of a father who looked like he'd already lost a child. "Chang is right."

Daiyu was outrageous. "How _dare_ you, Liwei?! Is honour, this blasted _honour_ , really _that_ important to you? This is Mulan, your own _daughter_. She could be _killed!_ "

Liwei turned his head towards his beloved wife's, slowly, agonizingly.

"If I reveal her," he said, voice barely a whisper and his eyes moist with tears, "then she will be."

* * *

When he had lost his train feathers, he had stopped smiling real smiles, ceased laughing real laughter. He had believed for a long time that something once lost can never be returned. But Mulan had changed all that, when she presented before him a recreation of his train feathers, a mechanical device that an old man like him could never come to understand. His daughter was a scientific, inventive genius. She and Chang had the same nurture, but Mulan…it was in her _nature_. It was in her nature to be curious, to use this innocence to her advantage, bravely lunging forward towards anything if it meant her proving herself.

She had been the one who brought him back his train feathers, a long time ago. Mulan was the one who _proved_ him _wrong_ —that something once lost _can_ be returned.

But, without Mulan herself to fix his lost daughter this time, that belief had risen once again.

_Something once lost can never be returned._


	5. Masculine Masquerade

Two days ago, the night just after the dinner with the Emperor, the moon had been shining high up in the sky—a slightly chipped full moon of glowing silver. The stars were twinkling bright against the pitch-black blanket, but the smoky clouds drifted along to cover them up as the cold wind chilled the creatures of the night. Eventually, the clouds arrived and covered up the light of the moon, as well, as if preventing to give even the slightest ray of light to the already swallowing darkness. It almost seemed too much like an indistinct forewarning of something ominous that is soon to approach from the near future.

But General Lord Lì didn't have the time nor mind space to notice the foretelling signs of nature. He was much too occupied by apprehension to notice anything. It was dread. _Fear_. Yes, he may be the lord of a city, the general of the Imperial Army, and all his life he was taught to be tough, but ever since the Army toned down with the arrival of Oogway and Kai, fell in love with Lady Meifeng, and became the father of a son, his soldier instincts had been worn out. In fact, he didn't feel quite so ready to be back in an army again—it all felt like a long time ago, a vigour that could only come from one's youth. Why now, of all times, did Oogway and Kai and their army have to be slaughtered by the Xiongnu?

Being called back into the battle frontlines in this old age of his was…well. Was uncalled for.

But then, he sensed something move from behind him in the darkness. Lì breathed a sigh of relief.

"Li Shan." He said this without even turning around to look who it was. "I'm glad you came, as we had agreed."

Li Shan, the giant panda, had been planning on sneaking up from behind him and giving him a bit of a fright, but now that he'd been figured out, he couldn't do that anymore, now, could he? Disappointed, Li Shan walked sulkily to face his regal peacock friend. "How did you know it was me?"

"No one else could be up awake at this hour in the night, except if I summoned them personally."

Li Shan dramatically rolled his eyes. "You're no fun."

"Now then," said Lì the peacock, urgency tinting his voice. "To business. No time to dawdle about. You do remember the time when your son, Lodus, almost died of illness, do you?"

A flash of a memory crossed the giant panda's kindly eyes, temporarily putting him in a trance; but then he quickly got over it and the look was immediately replaced with a mix of curiosity and concern for his old friend.

"I remember that. What about it?"

"Do you remember your promise to me that day? That you promised that you would return the favour to me if I asked?"

"Yeah, and I'm still sticking to that promise." Li Shan smiled, brightening the panda's face with purity and kindness. "Because of you, I got the chance to see my Little Lodus grow up to be a man someday. I owe you one. Can I…?"

"Yes. I have now thought of a way for you to return that favour. You can now repay your debt."

"Really?" Li Shan's eyes lit with curiosity. "What is it, my lord?"

The elderly peacock took the panda's paw and put something into it. When Li Shan looked, he saw that it was a scroll. "This is a conscription notice. It would be useful for you to enter the Moo-Shung Camp. That is where the new recruits for the Imperial Army would be training under Shen."

Li Shan looked shocked. "The young Lord Shen? Training the new recruits from the Imperial Army? Unbelievable! He's a junior captain now?"

"Yes. He is. I didn't want him to be, but he managed to get the Emperor to make me allow it." For a moment there, the peacock suddenly looked like he was on the edge of breaking. "That stubborn little lad…always meddling with my business…"

"Okay, so I go to the Moo-Shung Camp. I go there using this conscription scroll. So now I'm there. You want me to, what, spy on the young lord? Convince him to go back? I think I can do that."

"No." Lì looked up, and stared hard into his eyes. He tightened his wings around his panda friend's paw, almost as if a silent plea.

"I want you to protect Shen from all harm."

* * *

It was morning, and Mulan thought that her father's armour was _heavy_. The tight corset from yesterday was absolutely _nothing_ compared to this. In fact, she'd give up anything for the corset if it meant throwing this heavy armour out in the far off cliff. She'd give anything. Anything at all for the corset.

She never thought in a million years that she'd ever think that.

Not to mention the train feathers. How can peacocks bear carrying the weight of them their whole lives? They had no function except to show off manly pride and be _dragged_ around. They were so _heavy_. She only had enough strength to keep her father's feathers off the wet ground to keep it from getting soiled. Also, being born a peahen, she had absolutely _no idea_ how she was supposed to control them—how to fan them out, or how to use them in her own defense. Yes, she may have been the one who built its mechanisms and she had studied back in the days how peacocks used their fan feathers, but she didn't actually know _how_ to do it in person. The only thing she knew was how to drag them around with her. She wondered how she could survive the whole training regimen with these useless feathers. She did not need this beauty. She was better off as a female.

Also, her painted wings. Some of the blue and green tint had worn off, courtesy to the wetness of last night. Her brown feathers from underneath were being gradually revealed. She was lucky enough that Chang's makeup could stick to her feathers for _this_ long. She could just imagine how filthy she looked like. A peahen splashed with mud and paint. She was thankful that she passed by no mirrors whatsoever as she travelled towards Moo-Shung Camp. She did not want to see how horrid she looked like in her reflection.

A disaster, of course, as usual.

She wanted to go back home. She missed her whole family already, and she hadn't even stepped into the camp. She hadn't even gotten started, and nostalgia was already trying to drag her down. How else was she ever going to survive a whole course of training—with _men?_ She missed her father. She missed her mother. She missed her household chores. She missed womanhood. She missed Chang.

Well, maybe not so much Chang.

But of course, she could never take this armour off. She couldn't take the peacock train feathers off. She couldn't wash her face and remove the makeup. Even if she wanted to go back home already, she couldn't just do that. It wasn't that simple. By now, her family back at home would have already found out that she was gone; and if Mulan suddenly came back like a coward backing away from a challenge, then she'd have done nothing but add shame to her family's name. She had already started this journey, and it was just honourable to finish it to the end, no matter what horrible things might happen along the way. She had to go through this masquerade, if it meant restoring her father's honour and saving him from apparent death of battling the Xiongnu.

Actually, the camp was already in her reach. But she hadn't yet gathered the courage to step in there just yet. She was just spending a few more minutes trying to work up her manliness by rehearsing a few manly lines. She felt… _nervous_. Thankfully, the weather today seemed promising enough. The sun had just started to rise up the sky, revealing itself from the mountains on the far horizon, and tinting the blue with orange. Hopefully that's a good sign of good fortune ahead.

Now then. Back to business.

Mulan cleared her throat, preparing herself to speak out in a very manly voice. She unsheathed her sword from its scabbard, and bravely pointed it at an invisible attacker.

"Greetings, dear men! At last we meet!" She dramatically swivelled her sword around to point it at another direction. "That's right. I am a man too. Look! I have tail feathers too, like a _real_ peacock, which was definitely _not_ stolen from my father." Mulan faltered, pausing tentatively.

"Ah, no, no, no, no, no…that sounded quite stupid…" She put her sword back into her scabbard, and huffed her chest out instead. She pounded onto her chest with a clenched wing, then stepped one talon onto a rock as if to strike a heroic pose, just like she saw all those men back at home did. "Greetings, dear men! We meet, at last!" Ah, there it goes; better sentence construction. "Yes…that's it! Greetings, dear men, we meet, at la—"

A rat, flipped upside-down, suddenly appeared in front of her face.

"You know what," said the face, "you're really doin' a pretty pathetic job."

"Wh-whoa— _gaah!_ " Shocked, she lost her balance and tittered on her feet, until she eventually fell back and landed on her nether. She had fallen hard on the back and her head had hit the muddy soil. Great. Just what she needed. A filthy first impression. She rubbed her head with her eyes shut close, until she opened them once again to see the one and only rat of disaster. " _Junjie?_ " Her face morphed from disbelief, then a flash of confusion, then anger. "What are you—you're—you're _here?_ "

"No. I'm not here. I'm back in my cozy little room drinking tea and observing rocks like a moron." Junjie rolled his eyes and then acrobatically spun into the air and landed on the ground on all fours. He then theatrically waved his little paws at her like a mad maniac. "Come on, girl! Of COURSE I'm here! You're a _warrior_ now, sister—you don't ask stupid obvious questions! Come on, let's see what kind o' man you're made of!"

Mulan stared at him in disbelief for one second, her beak hanging open. Then, she managed to blink away her frustration as she turned around with crossed arms and started marching away, her head defiantly held up high.

Junjie was suddenly struck with an eh-what-just-happened expression on his face. Then he started running after her. "Hey, hey chica!" he called out, running with his tiny feet as he followed the path Mulan took through the forest of bamboo trees. He tried not to lose the multi-coloured figure of her walking away. He jumped onto a rock as he went on. "Hey, I'm talkin' to you, now don't you ignore me no more! Where are ya plannin' to bounce off to?"

If she heard him, then she gave no such indication that she did. She just continued walking away as if everything was all nice and cozy in this jolly merry world. Junjie groaned amidst his frantic running. Mulan could be very impertinent if she wanted to.

"Yo…dudette…don't…leave me… _hangin'!_ " he squeaked in between deep breaths, already panting from the effort of running after her. "That's…not what…besties…do!"

This seemed to get to her. All too suddenly, Mulan stopped walking that Junjie almost ran at her then hit her and fell like a domino—but fortunately he caught himself, and saw Mulan whirl around to stare down at him, wings defiantly put on her hips. Junjie gulped as he stared at her right back. Her chocolate brown eyes were big, but it was most definitely _not_ the usual cute and innocent way—instead, they were fierce…and foreboding. Uh-oh. This was serious.

"First of all," she glared, "I am _not_ your bestie."

The conjunction that erupted from his throat was automatic. "But—"

"And, second," she cut off, her face transforming into tear-stained anger, "I know that you followed me all the way out here, but no matter what you say, no matter _what_ , I will _not_ let you stop me. Never. _Never!_ " Overcome with emotion, she fell onto the ground and pinned her wings onto the floor, trapping Junjie in his place. Even as tears began to blossom at the edges of her eyes and fell to dampen his white fur, her voice remained loud and clear, firm and strong. On Junjie's face could be seen confusion and inner turmoil. He couldn't quite decide whether to classify this as a pathetic show of weakness or as an honourable spectacle of strength.

"I will not, _not_ be swayed!" she continued to say tearfully, still hovering above him and blocking his view of the sun. "Perhaps Father sent you to bring me back? No, _no_ , I am _not_ letting you, or anyone else for that matter! Do you understand me? Am I making myself _clear?_ I am doing this to save Father. _I am doing this to save Father!_ "

Junjie looked up at her wordlessly, eyes wide, completely unaware of how he should act in a moment like this. No, he was not at all bothered by the girl's salty tears that had just wetted his fur—instead, he was concerned of both her mental standing and capability. She was already breaking down, and the hard part hadn't even started. Could she really have the strength to pull off this masquerade? She had to, she must; but with her mental state, Junjie doubted that she could actually go even halfway. If she got found out that she was actually a girl, then she would be guilty of high treason; making her a subject for dishonour, shame, and, worst of all, the penalty of death. In all his happy shallowness, he did genuinely care about his friend—and it was whether she liked him to be or not.

Junjie weakly managed to utter two syllables from out of his speechless mouth. "Mu… _lan_ …"

Mulan stood up, tears wiped away, her face defiant once again. She clenched her wings by her side, and looked up beyond the mountains of the horizon, as if lost in a harrowing trance. "You must understand."

Then she started stomping away again, her talons trampling over the damp soil and studs of young grass that sprouted from it. Junjie immediately got up from the ground and followed him, as was the automatic reflex of any friend in the world.

"Girl, I understand. Really, I do. But listen to me, bestie—"

She didn't turn around to shoot him a withering look, but she _did_ dramatically throw her wings up in the air as exasperatedly as it got. "I am NOT your _bestie!_ "

Junjie groaned and let his paw run over his face. "Auurrgh, are _all_ gals so _difficult?_ "

"Yes, we are. It's a gift." She stopped temporarily, then twisted her head to the side to narrow her eyes at him pointedly. "Don't try to stop me." Then she started stomping away once again.

Junjie's patience was being tried, but he was persistent. He ran in front of her to force her to stop in her tracks and make her look at him, directly, for once. "Mulan, listen. I'm not trying to stop you."

Mulan's eyes bore into his. It was almost as if she was trying to search from within him an answer to a question that had been troubling her all this time. Her brown eyes were so ominously narrow and deathly sharp that Junjie made sure _not_ to move even just a single, itty-bitty muscle if he didn't want to get cut into pieces by this ridiculous woman in front of him. They merely continued to stay like that for several seconds, which was an awful lot amount of time to keep his mouth shut, but he endured it. He endured it, if it meant regaining back to him his best friend's trust. But still, Mulan didn't speak. And so Junjie couldn't speak as well.

_Man_ , he thought, starting to think of this job as extremely tedious. Being under those big, brown, and, not to mention, _murderous_ eyes of hers, Junjie felt drained of all that he had—powerless. Somehow, he didn't know where she'd gotten to learn it, but Mulan was an expert for pulling that kind of hypnotic effect from people.

_If looks had temperature,_ thought Junjie, who was still trapped under Mulan's acute brown gaze, _I'd be a roastin' hot rodent barbecue by now_.

Well, he'd known it the whole time that he _was_ hot, like, _devastatingly_ hot, but he'd never dreamed of that being him in the literal state. Anyway.

"Mulan, I'm telling you," he repeated, slowly, emphasizing each and every syllable as if he were talking to a five-year-old who didn't understand things upon first hear. "I am not lying. I am not working for your father, and I am not going to try and stop you."

"You're…" She was still basically rendered speechless from Junjie's earlier announcement, but she managed to overcome it after having regained the ability to construct a comprehensible sentence, disbelief still tainting her words. "…you're… _not_ …trying to stop me?"

"That's right. I'm comin' with you." Junjie strangely felt like a hero rescuing a damsel in distress when he put a paw onto her shoulder for sentimentality effect, adding to the intimacy of his words. He heard that girls became vulnerable when you lured them in with a bit of mushy-mushy gestures, so that was what he was doing. He looked deeply into her eyes, and then expressed its sincerity. **""** He paused, eyes wide in amazement of himself. "Whoa. That was actually that most touchin' thing I ever said my entire life."

"You would do that…for me?"

"' _Course_ I will!" He smiled a bit, but the brightness immediately dimmed. "But you know what, I really do wanna help you out, girl. Truth is, I've been feelin' a bit…rotten, about what I did to the fatso earlier, and…you know…destroying your family honour and all those thingamahoozits back at the fatso's temple with the ink and tea and rock and all."

"Really? You want to help me?"

"Really. Really really."

Mulan slowly lowered her head to hide her face away from him, her neck a graceful arch. He thought he heard her sniffle. And from where Junjie had his paw on her shoulder, he felt vibrations. Almost as if…she was…crying? Whoa. Mulan was _crying_. He didn't know that what he'd just said was _that_ touching; but perhaps Mulan was also _that_ open a crybaby? Or perhaps all girls were just this way? Mulan was chickening out and the war hasn't even started. He couldn't help but feel that she was a little too pathetic for something so manly like wars. But he wouldn't be that much of a friend if he didn't try to make her feel better, would he?

So, he decided to give her some comforting words with a little pat on the shoulder. "There, there, Mulan. Don't you cry no more. I accept your apology. I welcome you with open arms as my bestie again. You didn't mean to hurt my feelings, I know that. You were just too scared. Anytime, girl. Anytime."

But then he was shocked out of his own soul when Mulan suddenly threw her head back and hysterically burst out laughing in a very unwomanly _guffaw_.

Eh?

" _You?_ " she laughed, barely even managing to get the word out through the laughs exploding out of her beak. "Coming with—with _me?_ You're—you're _crazy!_ " She then slapped a wing at her knee and burst out laughing again. Junjie felt unusual, standing in the middle of her period of insanity, being laughed at like a powerless little creature stuck down in a bottomless pit, while people from above made utter fun of him. Are girls always like this? From what he'd observed in Mulan so far, they were as unpredictable as the weather. Warm one second, icy the next; first sad and tearful, then laughing like a lunatic. She was never a foot in between sanity and insanity, swinging in between periods of emotions as if like a pretty yet broken doll. Perhaps this is what happens to people who have been pushed for far too much.

Mulan wiped a tear of mirth from the edge of her eye, remains of laughter still bubbling up from her throat. "Why would _you_ of all people do that?" she chuckled out, shaking her head as if the idea was too ludicrous to become possible for comprehension. "You are going to make everything a disaster. A _disaster_. Somehow, it always ends up that way whenever I am with you. It is like you are a living bad luck charm."

Junjie fumed, perhaps the first time in a long time when he actually felt riled up. "Hey, no need to be rude! I'm only tryin' to help you out here!"

Mulan stubbornly turned her back to him and walked away, head held proudly high, her burrowed train feathers swaying on the ground in tone to her steps. The sound of metal scraping against the ground could be heard as she increased the distance between them. "I don't need your help! Now go away!"

But even as she walked away, Junjie followed her. He was nothing if not persistent. " _Sure_ you do! My help'd be all you need! You…uh…you don't even know how it is to…be a man! Yeah! That's it! Do you have any idea what it means to become a man?"

Mulan scoffed, not even bothering to spare even just the littlest look at her persistent rodent companion, who only wanted to help her. "Being a man is simple," she proclaimed, with more strength into her words than to what she actually felt like. "All I needed was a fan tail and an ego. And, presto, I'd qualify as a peacock. No one would be the wiser."

Junjie, as a man, felt offended that Mulan thought that all men are egotistic. "Hey! Not all men are egotistic, you know! And it's gonna take you more than a fan tail to sneak in there as a peacock! If you're not careful, and the men at camp finds out that you're a girl, they're gonna kill you for high treason! And you don't even know the…uh…the Twelve Sacred and Traditional Rules of Being a Man!"

"The _what?_ "

That got her attention. Phew. "A set of secret rules for a man," said Junjie, puffing his chest out proudly. "You need to learn that. If you don't, the men in that camp'll immediately know you're a girl."

Mulan skeptically raised a long, feathery eyebrow. "A secret set of rules for a man."

"Yep." He gave the 'P' a popping sound it give it more emphasis.

Mulan stopped walking, faced him, and crossed her wings defiantly over her chest. "Why don't I know anything about that?"

Junjie rolled his eyes. For all this girl's genius… "Cause it's for men, _duh_."

"You men really have a secret set of rules?"

Time to use human manipulation tactics. Junjie tried to walk a step back as if he was trying to bribe her into him. "If you don't wanna know, you could just shoo me away…but if you step in that camp and you couldn't even recite the…uh…the _Men's Admonition_ , then, huh, you're dead caught. You'd need to learn how to man up, and you could only learn that—" he pointed two fingers at himself— "from the one and only."

Mulan didn't particularly believe Junjie in this. Of course, she was more than that.

But with men…who knew?

She thought the matter over for a bit more. With Junjie right at her shoulder, there was a huge probability that everything would go straight down the drain once she stepped into camp with this bad luck charm jinxing her already messed up life in every step along the way. She couldn't even be sure if all this 'men have a secret set of rules' gibberish was true. Though, if you have to think about it strategically…

She looked at Junjie's big, expectant eyes.

She palmed her own forehead with a wing, then dragged it down with an exasperated sigh. "Oh, alright. I guess I _could_ use a little advice. Even from you."

* * *

From far off China's Northern borders, the vast, lifeless land was grey, dry, and barren; the trees reached out to the gloomy sky like the bony hands of skeletal prisoners; and the air reeked of the foul scent of death. The Xiongnu, an army of wolves and gorillas, had temporarily camped in this place to rest for a bit after having had travelled all night. Khan, the leader of the said army, was a large brute with fierce and powerful red eyes that seemed to follow you to wherever you go, rendering you trapped, with no chance to escape that fiery glare. It was merely a trick of the mind, yes, but that effect could make you lose your mind.

Just as Fang had. The young wolf had been tasked by Khan to patrol out and capture anyone alive that they could see, and even if Fang wanted so much to rest his head on a pillow instead, he had no choice but to go out and comply to his master's orders. He had brought a few of his brothers with him, who whined about not getting any rest (again), and eventually, their patrolling had paid off. They captured two antelope guards who had been trying to spy on them from behind a tree. They tried to run, of course, as was the natural reflex, and they were fast—but Fang and his wolves were faster. They incapacitated them by binding their feet and arms behind them with tight ropes. Fang motioned for his three other comrades to grab the antelopes by the horns and then marched towards their master Khan's tent.

They threw the two poor antelopes before their hairy master. "Sir!" announced Fang. "We've found these imperial scouts!"

The two antelopes were bound and gagged, struggling to break out of their captivity, but then they froze—their eyes displayed immediate fear when the shadow of the giant gorilla fell upon them, and they found out that all they could do was stare up at the hairy brute that had just stepped up before them.

Khan delightedly lowered himself down to level his face with one of the antelopes. Then, he smiled, cruelly—a grotesque sight, what with his yellow, tombstone-like teeth, gleaming red eyes, dirty black fur, and overall ugliness.

"Nice work, gentlemen," he whispered huskily, face morphing into a mocking sneer. Then, with a dramatic extension of a hairy arm, he gestured behind him, where the rest of his wolves and gorillas had gathered and stood behind them to find out the source of their master's entertainment. "You've found my army. The Xiongnu."

The men laughed.

One of the antelopes was brave enough to tear himself off from the gag over his mouth. He spit the filthy cloth out, and defiantly looked up at Khan's fiery red eyes—the way no one else had ever dared to do so before.

"The Emperor," he angrily drawled out, "will _stop_ you!"

Khan grabbed the foolish antelope by the neck and lifted him up from the ground, so that he was staring right into the lowly soldier's eyes. " _Stop_ me?" Khan said, another mocking jeer. "He _invited_ me. By building his wall, he challenged my strength. Well, I'm here to play his game." He revealed a knife from underneath his scrawny attire, and, for the briefest moment, the antelope thought that this was his end, valiantly closing his eyes to anticipate it—but then he realized that Khan had merely cut the ropes that bound his hands and feet. The giant gorilla then threw the antelope back to the ground. "Go! Tell your dear Emperor to send his strongest armies! I am ready!"

Everybody watched in laughter as the antelope helped untie his other friend, and then scampered away like boys chickening out from a challenge.

After they were well out of his sight, Khan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Then he stooped down to the side to his most trusted lieutenant, Fang.

"How far are we from the Wall, again?"

Fang responded with the usual gruff tone of voice—brief and flat and urgent. "We'll be crossing the Northern borders soon, sir."

Khan paused for a bit after this.

"Sir…what a lowly title." Then, his eyes suddenly brightened, like that of a delighted child's—the only difference was that his were deadly fierce and menacing. He turned to look at Fang, that grotesque image of him smiling and revealing his tombstone-shaped teeth a ghastly sight. "I'm curious. How did you address your… _dearest_ peacock friend, back then?"

"I…" Fang clenched his teeth and fists at the mention of _him_ , but he did his best to remain monotone. "…I called him my lord."

Khan grinned once again, as if he had sensed his young soldier's distress and delighting at the sight of it. "I want you…" He neared his face to Fang's, his breath a reeking canal. "…to address me that way, as well."

Fang got onto his knee and bowed his head down low before his master. "Yes…" His eyes grew distant as old memories flashed by before him.

"…my lord."

* * *

"…and the last and twelfth rule of being a man is to look as gruff as he gets," finalized Junjie, with a formally professional look on his face that Mulan could've mistaken for a town bard at any day. The young mouse held up his head, sharpening his tone into stricter hues as if that made him sound like a real teacher. It didn't. "Now. Let me see how gruff you are."

Mulan didn't quite know how to respond to that. "I…er…"

"Er? _Er?!_ " Junjie lost all professionalism as he threw his arms up in the air like a wild animal and hysterically grabbed Mulan by the fabric on her neck. " _Er?!_ Did I just hear you say ' _ER_ '? I think my bunny slippers just ran for cover—come _on_ , scare me girl!"

He had that wild look in his eyes as if he was running high on hormones like all men naturally are.

"I…I…uh…" She dug up from deep within the recesses of her brain for the most monstrously formidable thing that she had ever heard or encountered her entire life in order to please her new master of manliness.

She gulped and let the manly gruffness out.

"…grrr?"

Mulan felt like an idiot.

Apparently, Junjie thought so. He gave up. He collapsed onto the ground looking like he'd fainted on the spot, face bent with expressive exhaustion. "Ugh, you gotta do better than that. Did you _listen_ to what I just said?" However, just as soon as he'd hit the ground in his fantastic show of dramatics, he immediately got up and pointed a Finger of Might at his new student. "Don't use that pruny girly voice! Be _grumpy!_ Now, lemme see that grumpiness in sizzling hot action! Come on! Is that all you can do, _woman?_ "

The word 'woman' rolled off Junjie's tongue with a disgusted emphasis as if merely saying the word made him sick to the stomach. It made Mulan angry. How dare this tiny rat underestimate her womanhood? She was going to show him. Oh, just he wait, she was going to show _him_.

Mulan narrowed her deathly brown eyes at her little tutor for a second, then cleared her throat. Junjie sat on a rock and leaned forward, chin resting expertly on his steepled fingers as he anticipated the little spectacle that the peahen is just about to throw in. He had this little mischievous grin plastered all over his face the size of China, and Mulan felt like slapping it off his face with a metal hammer would be more than enough to satisfy her internal happiness for life.

"Okay," she said, squaring her shoulders and erasing all forms of womanliness from the smooth expressions of her face—transforming it into a very non-friendly form that Junjie thought was passable. He nodded his head in proud approval, but Mulan wanted more than _that_. What she wanted to make him fall on his knees and practically beg her to abandon her womanhood and become a man altogether because she was so mighty good at it in ways that mortal minds like his couldn't even imagine. Determined to do just that, Mulan deepened her voice, and walked forward with a manly smile on her face, what with that arrogant air and the little lift she gave her head, letting her beak touch the sky.

"Excuse me, where do I sign in?" she asked—or, rather, _he_ asked—to an imaginary somebody. Then, in the middle of her playacting, her eyes brightened, going along smoothly with the charade. She pointed at an imaginary object in front of her. "Ah, I see you have a sword! I have one too!" She fondly patted at the hilt of her sword tucked at her side, then tried to pull it out with as manly vigour as a girl could ever manage. "They're—they're very tough and—" she fumbled for the sword a moment, struggling with both its weight and her clumsy way of handling— "and it's really— _really_ —m-m-manly—ooof— _gaaah!_ "

Eventually, she fell onto the ground with a very feminine yelp and the sword slipped out of her wings like grey smoke through the fingers. She lay there on her back, pathetic.

Junjie laughed at this scene like mad, rolling over and holding his stomach with iron grip paws as if he'd just seen the crackiest thing he'd ever seen his entire life and he couldn't possibly take it anymore. "Oh my freaking gods, you shoulda seen yourself!" he guffawed, tears of mirth slowly starting to crystallise at the edges of his eyes, which were shut close, because apparently, the humour was just too much. "And, oh _sweet mother of monkey milk_ , and you call yourself a _man!_ Just…oh, this is all just too much…oh _gods_ , I can't even…can't even…can't…just… _can't_ …"

And then he was laughing again, pounding on the ground with those little paws of his like the hysterical lunatic that he was. Junjie was completely unaware that his peahen 'friend' had, in fact, already stood up, and her shadow was currently towering over him with that menacing glare in her eyes with her wings crossed like swords over her chest, ready to stab anyone out there who _dared_ make fun of her. She patiently waited until he was done, and when he was, Junjie barely acknowledged that Mulan was giving him Daggers of Death. He climbed up her shoulder, still having dreamy hangovers of his hysterical laughing fit, and Mulan let him, following him with those deathly eyes of hers.

"You know," he said, drunkenly, completely unaware that he'd just made Mulan stark raving mad, "once those blokes over at camp see you…" He paused, then slapped at his knee in a little outburst of laughter. Then, it exploded into a guffaw, rendering him completely unable to complete his previous sentence. "Oh, man, they wouldn't even _need_ a looksee below those robes of yours to know you're actually a girl!"

At this, Mulan's eyelids flew out wild, and she slapped Junjie off her shoulder so hard that he skittered across the ground and he was forced to eat a mouthful of mud and grass in the process. Mulan put a wing over her chest as if that would protect her from any hormonal manly threats that hovered all about her, the skin beneath her brown feathers blushing with the redness of a thousand shades combined.

"D-D-Don't _touch_ me!" she screamed at him, even backing away slightly with that noticeable tremble in her voice that could only be nothing but fear—as if she'd already been harassed in all ways unimaginable by this ignoble rat with his filthy little paws. "How very rude, Junjie! Is that a way to talk to a girl?"

Junjie sat up and spewed out the grime from his tongue. He stood up, and pointed at her accusingly.

"That's it! Dishonour!" he wailed. "Dishonour on your whole family! Hey, make a note of this. Dishonour on you, dishonour on your bestie, dishonour on—"

The traumatic Mulan had had enough of that despicable D-word.

"Stop!" she said, and knelt to the ground in order to cover Junjie's mouth with her wings, stopping the rambling flow of those… _D_ -words. "Stop, please? I am sorry for being angry, or unstable…I truly am. I am merely…" She looked down at the ground guiltily, and fiddled with the primary feathers of her wings. "…nervous. I have just never done this before."

Junjie took one look at his friend and patted her on the shoulder. "Then you're gonna have to trust me. And don't you slap me no more. You clear on that?"

Mulan nodded. Just once, though. She couldn't keep promises like that.

Junjie seemed convinced enough, though. "Alrighty then. Okey-dokey! Let's get this show on the road!" He brusquely clapped his paws together and Mulan watched in horror as his little figure started marching forward…towards the direction of the Moo-Shung Camp. "Come on! Let's move it, hup-hup!"

"W-Wait!" Mulan grabbed him by the scruff of his neck before he got anywhere any further. "B-but I haven't even practiced anything yet! And you still haven't taught me how I should act like a—"

Junjie crossed his arms over his chest. "I _told_ you, you're gonna have to _trust_ me! I'm a man, and Imma gonna make it surely that ya learn all that you hafta know 'bout bein' a man."

"But our rehearsal isn't yet—"

"I hereby declare this rehearsal over!" he announced, pounding a fist onto a rock like a judge on the court. "Look, hate to break it to ya, gal, but the way things are goin' for ya, we're not goin' _nowhere_. The only way you're really gonna actually stuff all this manly stuff into that girl genius brain of yours is if I _actually_ put you through all these lessons I.R.L."

Mulan had a hard time processing his grammatically incorrect sentences, but eventually she understood the main idea and arched an eyebrow. "I.R.L.?"

Junjie rolled his eyes. "Duh, _in real life_. Don't you know _anything?_ "

* * *

Mulan had now arrived at camp, but her face was twisted in such an inner agony of trying to summon up from the realm of the heavenly gods the manliest smile that she could ever muster.

A random antelope passed by her, peered closely at her agonized face, and regarded her with genuine concern. "Hey, you need toilet? It's over there."

Mulan shook her head frantically, assuring him that she was alright, still keeping that awkward smile-slash-unknown-piece-of-horror plastered on her beak. She didn't trust herself to speak yet. What now? Why was this man staring at her? Did he know that she was a girl? Was her cover blown already? She felt so nervous that she would be so utterly _grateful_ to take even just a minute off at the toilet, but she feared what she might see there, and so had wisely declined the offer. She'd never been in a men's toilet, and she'd absolutely never dreamed of ever getting inside one. Knowing men, who knew what formidable horrors lay from within?

The antelope took one more curious look at her, and Mulan stiffened. She prepared her tongue to recite the _Men's Admonition_ in case the man asked, although she hoped so strongly that he'd just go away. Oh, how she wished he'd just leave her alone and please please _please_ he's not suspecting her of anything wrong…

"Alright then. If you say so." Then he marched away to join the other men from the far tent, slapping backs and hollering manly greetings. Mulan breathed a large sigh of relief. Phew. Alive for the moment.

Junjie suddenly popped out from under the fabric over her shoulder. "Okay, this is it!" he proclaimed, his voice a hushed whisper on her ear. "Lesson one. A man walks like he owns everything. He's proud, arrogant. A king. Like he's the all high and mighty Emperor. I demand you walk like it. Do it!"

Of course, as a woman, it was in her natural nature to argue. "Inaccurate," she stated, ever so formally. "The Emperor is a trained noble and would never vaunt about anything." She then looked thoughtful for a second, and she tapped the edge of her beak with a feather. "And Mother said that the virtue of humility should be expressed by _either_ gender, so whether or not you are male or female…"

Junjie groaned, slapping his forehead like the dramatist that he was. "UGH. Mother said _this_ , Mother said _that_ —pffft! Men don't care about you girls' stupid virtue habits! We walk like a man. We walk like _emperors_! Now then. Time to show them your man-walk. Shoulders back, chest high, feet apart, head up, and strut! Two, three— _break that bone!_ —two, three, aaaaand _work it!_ "

Mulan didn't know why or how she'd been coaxed into putting up with this stupidity, but, nevertheless, before she knew it, she was strolling through the tents, strutting with her head held high, her magnificent train feathers trailing her from behind, its metallic scraping sound overcome by the loudness of his attitude—

—an attitude of a dignified peacock.

But in the midst of all her manly glory, Mulan suddenly crashed head-on to a wooden post and tumbled back down onto the ground on her bum.

The men who saw her all exploded into barking laughter.

Junjie slapped his own forehead.

He had a feeling he'd be doing that more often from now on.

* * *

His wings were tucked in his robes, his eyes were closed, and his mind was thinking.

Lord Shen was seated in a carriage. Although his face expressed absolute steel, the young prince was actually in fine, dare he say pleasant, form today. He had been travelling all the way from Gongmen City to the Moo-Shung Camp for the past day now, and he felt ready more than ever to meet the Imperial Army's clumsy new recruits who surely couldn't even hold a sword without first tumbling over a rock. He was determined to fix that. He would make them all warriors, and all of China would see the glory that was the young white heir of Gongmen City, son of the Imperial Army's General Lord Lì, Lord Shen, the master of China's greatest troops. He had no experience in training others, but he believed himself to be ready for whatever challenge the Emperor had decided to throw at him.

Well, yes, Shen's burned foot was still weak—he still had considerable trouble standing up and supporting himself for long amounts of time. His feet should not be overused, else he would feel pain. But, not surprisingly, he did _not_ consider that as a hindrance. Every variable in this equation was all just a challenge for him, contesting him, _daring_ him, until he gave up on searching for the correct answer. But of course it was not in his nature to give up. He'd always had the determined drive, that magnetic pull, towards challenges. He firmly believed that it was all just a test that could be overcome through rational efficiency and effectuality.

Bandages covered his burned talons, and a metal glove protected them on top of that. It was hurriedly custom-designed by Shen and hastily moulded by the palace's blacksmith. The result was a manageable product, but not something that really satisfied him. Ever the perfectionist, he found seventeen minor and almost insignificant faults here and there, and he would gladly have spent more time seated down in his study to make a few more alterations, but he just had not the time. It was urgent, after all, that as new junior Captain, he had to go immediately to camp and fulfil his military duties.

Never mind that for now. Shen would have a lot of time to re-sketch the designs later.

"Lord Shen, we have arrived."

Shen opened his eyes at his footman's formal announcement. When he looked out the window of his carriage, he saw that they had indeed arrived already. He stepped out of the carriage, the antelope footman opening the door for him. Shen then caught his first glimpse of the camp, where he would be staying for the next few weeks training the recruits. He scanned the area, and saw that there were the rows and rows of tents and the scattered men who were just starting to gather and already getting to know each other. Some were laughing, 'grooming' (cutting their toenails, picking their noses, etc.), punching, kicking, teasing, crying, and one was even drooling over there while he slept, generally acting like the men…no, _boys_ they were. He even saw one man, (how peculiar…a peasant _peacock?_ ) clumsily crash into a wooden post and fall to the ground to be laughed at by his comrades.

Shen frowned to himself. How lovely.

"Ah, here he is! Lord Shen of Gongmen City," greeted a pig scribe, who had a pen and scroll in both his hooves. He raised a mocking eyebrow. "How are you today, eh, _Captain?_ "

The pig was testing his patience. He had spit the word out as if it were the most disgustingly laughable thing that had ever passed his sloven lips.

Shen let his feathers from inside his voluminous robs touch the soothing cold of the feather knives he kept from within. It helped cool down his sudden rise of impatience. It was a comfort thing. He had always been taught by his father not to dare insult an official who stood on a position that was higher than his was. The status quo irritated him to the point of madness, but if he wanted to gain respect, he had to practice maturity in front of this swine. Shen may be a lord, the future heir of Gongmen City, but this pig, Guiren, was the highest member of the Emperor's Council. Shen would have to try _not_ to amputate his head—at the very least, that is.

"Is my father here yet?" he asked in a restrained manner.

"Why, I've asked you if you were fine, my lord, _Captain_ ; would you not greet back the Emperor's personal scribe?"

Shen closed his eyes patiently. "I am impressed not by someone's name, nor his birth, nor his position in the high society. Tell me where my father is."

The pig frowned, obviously displeased of being shoved away like a baby's pooped napkin. "Alright then. If you would follow me over here, my lord. The general has been waiting for you." Then he turned his back to him and started leading the way.

Shen followed suit, walking straight ahead, not ever minding what he trampled under his feet or and ignoring the polite greetings of the men he had passed by.

He did not feel afraid of failing this task. Through patience, hard work, and fortitude, he believed that victory would be his and his only. His father told him that he had little chances of succeeding in training the new recruits, and the Emperor himself had warned him that he might not even be sent to the frontlines, but Shen held his head high and confidently proclaimed that he would gain his honour and dignity through diligence and determination. He did not want to be defined as the son of the General. He did not want to be defined with the title of a lord—he had had that stuck to his name ever since he was born. He wanted to _prove_ to everyone else that he deserved it. He wanted to be defined as _Captain_ Lord Shen, master of the Imperial Army, indomitable lord of Gongmen, titles that had not only been inherited, but, more importantly, hard-earned. He would show them all wrong. He would seize all of China's respect, and they would all find themselves on their knees before him once he stepped up on the highest pedestal that oversaw the entire land.

The challenge it presented incited him.

Guiren lifted the rags draped over the tent and in they stepped. Lord Lì stood up and Guiren stepped aside, so that father and son faced each other in greeting.

"Hello, son!" said Lì, who walked forward with his arms out wide, as if to engulf Shen in a hug.

Shen narrowed his eyes as he put his wings inside his robes and sought the cold comfort of his knives.

"Greetings, General."

"Ah. Of course. Very well." Lì awkwardly withdrew his arms back to him dejectedly as he cleared his throat upon realizing his mistake. "So this is how we should be…Captain." He gestured towards the seat across the large wooden table, where a map rested with pins pinned on specific strategic places. "Let us review our battle plans, shall we?"

A smirk graced Shen's beak. Training the new recruits was a pleasant physical and mental challenge, but military strategy—now, _that_ was more his area of expertise.

"Of course."


	6. At Camp

"Speechless? Stunned? Overwhelmed already?" Junjie was giddily bounding up and down her shoulder as he took in the wonderful sight of the men's muscles and the overwhelming scent of the men's sweat. Well, this was camp. "This is all just the appetizer, y'know! Wait till the main course!"

Mulan, with her little rodent companion on her shoulder, passed through the aisle of tents and took in the sights, all the while taking special care that her train feathers were not in the way where it could easily be stepped on. There was the sound of metal scraping against the ground every time she took a step forward that it was almost attracting some unwanted attention. Thankfully she had a pretty convincing smile and a friendly one at that, which sent the recruits smiling back at her with random salutes here and there.

But getting the attention of the recruits because of the metal in her feathers was the least of her problems. She couldn't quite yet lift it, as it was not in a peahen's nature to really be able to bear the weight of such a heavy burden. She had never thought that being a peacock would be so _hard_. And she's only talking about lifting fan tails here. She realized that she had tons more to learn if she wanted to continue living like this—she'd have to know how to flare her peacock feathers, use it for gliding, be able to lift it naturally, use it in combat, yada yada. She was in a _war_ , and if she can't even handle the weight of her own feathers, then she was nothing more than pathetic.

She now understood the implications of having done something crazy like this. Donning a male persona and forcing herself to go to a _war?_ Some side of her told her that she was an idiot for not thinking this shoddy plan through. Come to think of it, she'd used _make-up_ to cover her brown feathers. What if their training involved swimming? Then her make-up would be washed away, and everyone would find out that she was nothing but a hoax. And what was she even _thinking?_ Women are _not_ supposed to be meddling with men's business in the first place!

She was just starting to believe that tiny voice in her head, to the point that it _almost_ made her _want_ to turn back around…

But then she suddenly remembered who she was doing this for.

Father.

So she steeled herself, and walked with her chin lifted a little bit higher. It made her feel better.

Still, though…she'd never realized that the males of her species always had to carry such a weight in their everyday lives, along with the responsibility of having to be the head of a family or defending China. She immediately felt guilty for having shouted at her father last night; he really must have felt like the world was on his shoulders, what with the pressure of family honour and societal duty and all.

Being a male was easy, eh? It was easier said than done. She was really beginning to respect the males, now that she was a part of them.

Only _her_ species, though. Junjie was still basking in the overwhelming sight all around them, and he and Mulan became the prime witnesses of those non-hygienic men picking their noses in the open public. Mulan cringed as she saw them bragging and comparing to each other about how their big their snots were, then clapping and cheering on that one dude who managed to ball a big one. Mulan flinched, this time more violently, feeling like all her feathers had just been plucked out not of her skin pores one by one. The pain of this masculine scenario was so skin-crawling that it was almost physical.

Contrary to Mulan's disgusted reactions, though, Junjie sniffled and wiped tears of joy that pricked at the edges of his eyes.

"Oh," he said, voice clearly overwhelmed by artistic pleasure as if he'd just seen the most god-defying artwork in history. "It's all just so beautiful, isn't it?"

A rabbit passed them by. He was a little muscular figure waving a pair of white underpants in the air (which were so sullied they looked yellow) like it was China's golden flag of glory. "Oy!" he shouted. "Oy, oy, oy! Let's go to _war_ , people!"

Mulan jumped when the rabbit passed by her, making sure that her train feathers were not in the way as the rabbit went on.

"This…is…" She racked her brain for the appropriate word, her eyes still glued to the rabbit as he waved his underpants in the air. "…normal. Right?"

Junjie frowned, clearly disappointed that his apprentice wasn't very appreciative of all the sights around her. He crossed his tiny arms around his little grey chest. "Hmph! You women. You have no care for our art! Doesn't matter—not that you close-minded-creatures are ever gonna be able to understand!" Junjie pulled out a random handkerchief from the air and blew into it. Mulan briefly wondered where he suddenly got that from, but she didn't have the time to think about that when Junjie continued.

"You know what, though, I think I just cried a bit. It's that kind of art that makes you overwhelmed until you just wanna hug somebody and cry…it's just… _sniff_ …all so amazing…"

The peahen's frown merely deepened at that. If Junjie was trying to convert Mulan's expressively disgusted face into one of amazement, then he was failing utterly. The female-slash-man-in-disguise looked at her sniffling shoulder companion in disbelief. She then looked at the men all around them. An unhygienic black goose was removing some sort of dirt stuck between his rubber-like feet and he brought his feather near his beak probably to examine what it tasted like.

And what did Junjie say? About these being all just the appetizer?

"I couldn't wait for the main course, then," she mused aloud with a shudder.

"Eh? You said something?"

"Nothing."

"No, really."

The peahen sighed. "Junjie, really, it's nothing."

And then that's where he snapped.

"If you want me to remain your tutor for the next several weeks of your training," Junjie blared at her hotly, "then you're gonna _have_ to _trust_ me!"

Mulan sighed. She was slowly starting to learn that arguments with one particularly annoying git would always be just as pointless as the last. So, he wanted her to say the truth? Then say the truth she will.

"Well. It's just that…they're…" Her eyes steeled into one of focus as she tried to search for a subtler word, but unfortunately nothing came to mind. So in the end she decided that she should probably just be point-blank about it.

"…disgusting."

Junjie was offended.

"No, Miss _Man_ ," he hissed onto her ear, "they're _men!_ We are creatures of art; we shape the world. And you're gonna have to act just like us blokes, so _stop thinking about life_ and pay attention!"

The peahen frowned down at him but nevertheless followed his advice. She tried to mingle with the other men by sparking up a conversation, but every time she started one, she only always ended up falling face-flat into an awkwardly sticky situation where the only way out for her was to just stop it. Being a maiden of the house all her life, used to staring at the wall for hours and being comfortable with it, she hadn't been as much a social being as her sister Chang was. Mulan wasn't the type of girl to be shy around crowds—in fact she was that expressive introvert who can be very honest and expressive of her feelings to other people, especially to close friends. She simply didn't like going out and about socializing with the _other_ people; she got too awkward around strangers. Thanks to her experiences, (or lack thereof) she had the exceptional social skills of a rock.

"Ugh." Junjie was getting frustrated at the fact that Mulan was just _pathetic_ at making conversations. "Nice job over there. Just _what_ is the problem with your tongue?"

"I c-can't help it!" said Mulan, anxiously looking back to a group of laughing men from where she had just made a fool of herself. "Stuttering. Strangers. I j-just…get too nervous." She bowed her head down and faced the ground miserably, toying with the strings of her armour with her feathers. She already felt so much like a failure, and nothing had even started yet. "I miss Father. I…w-want to go home already."

Junjie thought he heard the sound of a sniffle and wrinkled his nose in slight disgust at her. "Girl, if you're gonna cry, do it after you run back home like a chicken chickening out of a little challenge like this. This is just _socializing_ , man. Are you giving _up_ already?"

Mulan wiped the tears from her eyes by the back of her wing, and squared her shoulders after that.

"Right. Of course. I can do this."

The rodent smiled. "That's the spirit!"

The peahen and the mouse stared at each other and shared a moment. For a second, Mulan could only really stare at the genuine smile on his face, blinking in her own daze.

_Junjie, you know, you're actually…_

She managed to smile back as the thought reached her eyes.

… _not so bad after all._

"Hey, hey, stop it, you guys! _Many people are watchin' the drama show of the both of y'all!_ "

Shocked, Mulan and Junjie suddenly swivelled their heads around, readying an explanation in all their panic that they might have already been figured out. A giant panda was marching towards them, his arms crossed and the expression on his face quite a bit sour. But…but _how?_ Mulan let her wing fall by her side as she protectively clutched at her train feathers from behind. How would anyone suddenly figure out that she's a girl? And, this _soon?_ But she'd just entered camp! Also, she'd made sure to take all precautions, hadn't she? What had she done wrong again this time? And why—

"Let's just talk over this matter peacefully now, shouldn't we?"

Mulan suddenly snapped out of their reverie, though, when she realized that the giant panda wasn't actually looking at them. The panda tapped the shoulder of one goose, put a paw on the back of one pig, the two of whom glaring at each other as if they were enemies. Mulan and Junjie released relieved sighs when they understood that the panda wasn't actually pertaining to them—phew, that means their little masculine masquerade was still up and running.

What they weren't aware of, though, was that the giant panda was actually Li Shan, the best friend of the General Lord Lì. Li Shan was starting to find it annoying that the recruits kept on fighting among themselves. The pig was named Gang, short, stout, and muscled, and he was staring daggers up at the tall and thin form of the shaking goose named Ling. All Li Shan wanted was some peace in this camp, but these two…

"But HE started it!" cried Ling, the poor goose wild-eyed and on the verge of tears. He pointed a frantic, shaking feather over at Gang's small form. It was a hilarious sight, the taller one being afraid of the smaller one. " _He_ destroyed my flowers! _Gang!_ My _flowers_ , you hear me!"

"You trying to fight me, flower boy?" Gang, the stout little pig, looked up at Ling with an arrogant challenge in his eyes. "Go on then, punk. Let's see if you have the guts. Prove to me you're not a little _sissy_."

"I…" Ling's eyes fell to the floor. "E-er…uh…"

"Guys, please," sighed Li Shan, who firmly touched their shoulders and did his best to pry them away from each other. He didn't want a fight suddenly brewing in here. They had enough war in their hands to begin with.

Gang, however, wasn't too willing to cooperate on walking along the panda's road of peace. He punched a fist into his own palm, and swaggered up to Ling with his chest proudly puffed up.

"Huh? Huh? What have you got, then, Ling? _Flowers?_ "

"No!" Ling fumbled nervously around, who didn't look like he was anywhere near giving up against the pig. Then he finally lifted up his shirt to reveal what was underneath.

"This…uh…flower _tattoo_ …" His voice started gaining a bit of pride when he said that part, and, eventually he had no choice but to give in to a smirk. "…will protect me from harm!"

Gang stared contemplatively at the goose's thin, exposed chest for a minute, examining the little tattoo. "Hmmm."

Then he suddenly punched him.

" _Hey!"_ cried Ling, now seriously provoked and not choosing to back away from this. He got up from the ground, dusted off his shirt, and kicked Gang in the face with his clawed rubber feet in revenge.

Gang stumbled back a bit from that, a bit shocked from the attack. Then he pulled up his sleeves and stomped up to Ling angrily. "Why, you _eejit_..."

Li Shan desperately tried to separate them. "Boys! Stop it! Don't fight each other! The Xiongnu are our real enemy here—"

But they weren't listening.

"T-Take _this!_ Secret technique!" Ling said, posing in a lame fighting stance. "Attack of Flowers!"

"Fist of Destruction!"

"Aroma of Lilies!"

"Breath of Doom!"

"Flower Bird Profusion Blast!"

"Spikes of Death!"

"Super Fire-Breathing Dragon with Ten Thousand Blossom Scattering Fissure Fist!"

"What the _hell?!_ "

Li Shan put a paw onto his face and dragged it down. So the two weren't fighting after all. They were merely having a showdown of who between them had the more awesome name for their attack pose.

Idiots.

"Guys. Please. Stop. You're embarrassing."

Suddenly, though, they see the sun being blocked by a big ball of light brown fur, distracting them all from their current dilemma. Kunjingle, a great brown sun bear, had just entered the scene, and he had replaced the brightness of the sun with the golden patch of fur on his chest that was shaped like the sun itself. He stepped in between Gang and Ling and suddenly pulled them away from each other with an effortless strength that shocked the both of them.

And then he started sprouting out gibberish that no one could understand.

He looked like he was trying to lecture Gang and Ling about their behavioural attitude towards each other, but…

Everyone simply stared at him point-blank. Kunjingle finished his speech and bowed after that.

Silence.

"How very touching!" said Manchu, breaking the ice, another one who was a part of their little gang. He was an antelope with a very refined sense of aesthetics and art and he would appreciate absolutely anything that was beautiful in his eyes. He was just walking towards them with a mirror in his one hoof (he liked looking at himself), and he was using his other hoof to wipe away tears of joy in his eyes. Apparently he was overwhelmed from the beauty of the heroic speech that he'd just heard from the sun bear, Kunjingle. "Yes, my friend Kunjingle, your speech had been very touching, indeed! That was truly a work of art!"

"Uhh…."said Ling, after a few moments of silence of staring at Kunjingle and trying to figure out what he'd just said. Kunjingle was their friend and all, but the sun bear was usually shy and he always hid during the day, so the times when he'd suddenly make himself appear in public was still a bit shocking for him. "Manchu? What did he just say? Translate, please?"

Manchu decided to translate Kunjingle's misunderstood statements for them.

"Ah, the handsome blue sky is shining upon us, and my handsome face—oh, _where has my handsome face gone?!_ " Manchu realizes that he actually held a mirror and he was shocked to find the reflection of him in it. "Ah, my pretty love, _there_ you are! Where have you been hiding all this time? I've been looking all over for you, my handsome little robin! After having seduced me, you run away just like that? So, so cruel! I shan't forgive you for deceiving me! Oh, but no! I simply cannot imagine life with you unforgiven! I cannot help my heart, so now I forgive you! We shall move forward into the forgiving path of friendship and live the rest of our lives together without strife!"

Ling and Gang looked at each other, letting it sink in.

Then they suddenly burst into tears and delved into the embrace of each other's arms. They both thought that it was a very touching speech indeed, about friendships and forgiveness and life and moving forward.

"I'm sorry I called you a flower boy, dude!" cried Gang.

"I'm sorry I kicked you in the face!" cried Ling.

"But seriously, you smell like feet."

"You too."

"Feel like punchin' somebody?"

"YEAH! Come on, Gang, let's go!"

Ling and Gang, best friends once more, then marched off to torture some more unfortunate souls.

Li Shan shook his head helplessly at them. Well. Boys gotta be boys.

Mulan, however, could simply watch in horror as Ling and Gang started bullying the people around them. But then when she saw that Kunjingle had suddenly noticed her and was starting to walk towards her, she stiffened, her attention torn away from Ling and Gang and reverting to Kunjingle. The sun bear had a light brown fur and he looked quite the lovable friend—his soft purple eyes said that already—but Mulan couldn't help but feel nervous around these guys. After all, she _had_ just seen him effortlessly stop Gang and Ling from strangling each other…that fist of his must've weighed like a thousand pounds.

Kunjingle stopped in front of her and Mulan stiffened all the more. Did she just feel it, or were his eyes checking her out from up and down? Thankfully, that antelope guy, Manchu, suddenly arrived and noticed Kunjingle. He must be a friend of the sun bear, Mulan noted, when the antelope draped an arm around the sun bear's shoulders.

"Oh, you've made a friend, huh, Kunjingle?" laughed the antelope. Then he turned to Mulan. "Don't mind us, we're just going. Oh, and no autographs, please, I know I'm handsome, but maybe next time. See you around."

The sun bear punched Mulan playfully on the shoulder as a form of goodbye, making the girl stumble a bit from the shock of his strength. She managed to stretch out a smile though, trying her best to hide the pain as she rubbed her punched wing, then watched the antelope and the sun bear walk out of her sight.

Mulan suddenly felt the weight of the world crashing down her shoulders when the fact that she was stuck in the middle of all this finally sank in, deep into her gut.

She remembered the pig…Gang was his name, right? The pig had the very unlikeable attitude of a man who is obsessed with punching people around. Ling, the goose, on the other hand, seemed to be very shy, but obsessed with flowers. Manchu, that antelope, seemed to be quite the poet, and the annoying narcissist at that. And the last one, the queerest of them all—the sun bear, Kunjingle, who apparently had his own language and had unearthly strength.

Bullying. Punching. Showdowns of attack poses. And a bunch of really weird people.

_Boys._

"I…I don't think I could do this…"

Junjie enthusiastically looked up at her and tried to cheer her up from her apparent distress.

"It's all attitude, Mulan!" he whisper-yelled, punching at her shoulder playfully. "Be tough, like this guy behind you!"

Mulan was suddenly alerted at that. "Behind me? But I—"

When she whirled around, she suddenly saw that the pig, Gang, was already there. She couldn't imagine how, because she _swear_ she knew she just saw him _over there,_ but…

Gang looked up at her with a sour look on his pink, chubby face, which looked as lovable as a stuffed toy—in fact, he looked so chubbily lovable that him wearing such a sour expression was almost hilarious enough to send Mulan laughing through her nose.

"And what the hell are _you_ laughing at?"

A panicked Mulan smothered down the laughter by clearing her throat. _My,_ she thought, the glint of laughter still in her eyes, all while trying so hard to avoid the pig's intense gaze. _Someone's been grumpy._

"Punch him," instructed Junjie. He was determined to instruct Mulan in her every conversation from now on, so that she didn't stumble and stutter like the pathetic stutterer she was.

"P-Punch him?" repeated Mulan, who seemed a bit horrified at the thought. She twisted her long neck so that she could take a look at the little companion she had on her shoulder. "Would that not be…bad manners?"

"Bad manners? _Bad manners?_ " Junjie all but wailed like a wild animal. "Are you claiming that _you_ know _more_ than _I_ do when it comes to men?! I said PUNCH HIM! It's how men say hello, I said! _Punch him!_ "

Mulan, a bit shocked by that little outburst by Junjie, felt that she had no other choice but to raise her wing into the air, curl it into a fist, and shut her eyes tightly. Then she suddenly brought it down to punch the pig into its chubby arm, causing Gang to stumble—"GAAAH!"—and slam into Ling, that flower-loving goose, who caught Gang by the arms and said, "Whoa! Gang, you've just made a friend!" Ling looked curiously into Mulan's ashamed face and said, "So who's this little chicken you've just met, eh?"

"See?" said Junjie triumphantly. "I told you punching people'll earn you some friends!"

Mulan looked at her own wing that she'd just used to punch the pig. Oops. She herself didn't know her own strength. Perhaps she gained that from doing too much household chores?

"Ah! Is that a _peacock?!_ " And then Manchu was suddenly there, that narcissistic antelope fellow with the mirror in his hand. Kunjingle, however, was nowhere to be found. Manchu didn't seem to mind that much, though, as he continued his rant, marvelling over Mulan's colourful train feathers. He even went so far as to pluck one feather from her colourful fan tail, earning from Mulan a startled, "Hey! That's my Father's—"

But then she stopped herself just in time. Thankfully, no one was able to notice that little slip of the tongue, because everyone's eyes were on Manchu as the antelope fussed over that little colourful blue-green-golden feather in his hoof.

"How come I haven't noticed you for the first time, you elusive little royal!" he gushed. Then, with a theatrical voice trembling so melodramatically that Mulan could've sworn he was going to cry any time soon, "You, yes, _you!_ " he pointed at Mulan with the feather in his hoof. "You are the prince of all birds, the majesty of the sky! Do you realize the magnitude of my words, you nescient mortal?! Oh, but what handsome feathers you have, with a fan tail that I could simply see pirouetting in the sky to shower us with the grace of your beauty that cannot possibly be reached by lowly mortals such as I! Tell me, how on earth were you able to obtain such pulchritude? Oh, please I beg you, let your colourful wing bless us with your handsomeness!"

And then Manchu was suddenly gripped by shock when he held out the mirror in front of him and saw a reflection of himself. "Oh no, no, no, no," he said, as if trying to comfort the reflection on his mirror. "Of course _you_ are more handsome than the feathers of that lowly peasant, no one would be more handsome than _you_ , you little seductive scoundrel…hee-hee…"

Mulan twitched.

What a weird fellow.

"YOU!" someone suddenly shouted from behind Mulan, and, panicked, she whirled around to see Gang coming after her. "Come over here so I can punch you, _sissy!_ "

She was just about to make her escape when Ling calmly tried to stop his friend from stampeding over her. He calmingly put both his wings onto the brute pig's shoulders to stop him from trembling with anger. Being his best friend, Ling knew just how Gang could get mad, and it was not a pretty experience.

"Remember what Kunjingle and Manchu just said?" Ling said, ever so calmingly, the goose being an expert when it came to meditation. After all, he'd spent all his time at his home meditating in his family shrine with only the peace of flowers surrounding him. "No fighting, all friendship, deign forgiveness, and of course, the most important of all… _flowers!_ "

But Gang would not be calmed down. "Hey!" he shouted at Ling. "That guy just punched me! He couldn't just ain't never gettin' away with it!"

"Um," said Mulan, who raised a wing as if she was reciting in class. "Excuse me for being elaborate, but that was a triple negative."

Gang, now seriously pissed off, growled back at Mulan. "What did you just say, you _elaborate_ punk?"

"Girl," hissed Junjie at her shoulder, "you gonna blow yer elaborate cover if you keep TRYIN' to _BLOW YER ELABORATE COVER!_ TALK LIKE A MAN!"

"I have to talk with grammatically erroneous multiple negatives?" she questioned.

"YEAH!" screamed Junjie. "Whatever that means, however grave that is, whatever it _takes_ , this is a life-or-death situation we have here, so DO it!"

And so, not anymore trusting what is right and what is wrong, Mulan cleared her throat, and took the plunge.

"Hello!" she greeted, starting all over again from the top, stretching a huge smile on her beak for the two boys. "How y'all ain't doin' no good, guys?"

Gang paused from struggling out of Ling's wings and Ling stared at his fellow avian. Even Manchu had to pause from gushing over at his reflection in the mirror to look at Mulan like she was an idiot.

Junjie, however, could only do one thing.

Facepalm.

"Punch him!" he said, gritting his teeth. "PUNCH HIM! If you wanna say hello, don't _say_ it! _PUNCH HIM!_ "

So Mulan punched Gang in the stomach.

Gang nearly puked at that.

Ling and Manchu gave their amazed applause. "Wow, Gang, you really made a friend!"

"Good!" praised Junjie, who now saw progress in this beautiful friendship that would soon prove to even pass the test of time. Now, if he just had to make Mulan do the right manly things… "Excellent. Yer doin' a great job over there, roger. Now, slap him on the behind. Men like that!"

Mulan closed her eyes, braced herself, and slapped poor Gang on one of the sides of the cheeks of his chubby bahookie.

Ling and Manchu laughed together. Gang was now thoroughly angry and he struggled out of Ling's wings to grab Mulan by the neck. The woman gasped, but she did not make an attempt to escape, because she was now too gripped by the fear of being punched in the face.

"I'm gonna hit you so freakin' hard, it'll make your ancestors dizzy!" threatened Gang. Mulan braced herself for the incoming pain by turning her head to the side and shutting her eyes close, but then—

Manchu stepped forward to calm Gang down by putting a restraining hoof on his shoulder. "Ah, my friend Gang! May the winds of the sky blow away the dark clouds of thunder that gather forth to block your view of the sun, my dear brother! Do not let this anger blind the purpose of your life—just as China's son, the great calm turtle by the name of Confucius, has taught us!"

"What did the dude just say?" Junjie silently whispered to Mulan. "Confusion? Con-WHO-sion?"

Mulan looked pointedly at Junjie to defend one of her greatest idols of philosophy. "His name is Confucius, you idiot, one of the wisest people China has produced. He is one of the great ancestor of the late Master Oogway—"

"HEY!" Gang shouted at Mulan to pull her attention back to him. "Listen to me when I'm talkin' to ya, you punk!"

Ling pushed Manchu out of his way and decided that it was his turn to calm his friend down. "Gang, relax and chant with me." Ling pulled Gang's shoulders to him so that the goose would be massaging the pig's tense shoulders. Gang only growled at Mulan. But then Ling cleared his throat, and started to sing.

"All the beautiful flowers…of the flower meadow…bow down before the wind…we love the daffodil show! La-la-la-la-la! Bow down before the wind…we love the daffodil show! Break it down, yo! We love the…? Come on, Gang, sing it with me! We love the…?"

Gang, after listening to that calming song, finally gave in by releasing a sigh and then eventually calming down. "…we…love the daffodil show."

Ling patted him on the shoulder, noticing that Gang's tense muscles had already calmed down indeed. "There. Feel better?"

"Yeah." Then Gang spit at the ground on the direction of Mulan, who looked dejected. "Eh, you ain't worth my time, Chicken Boy."

Mulan decided then that she was no longer wanted there. Miserable, she turned around, started to walk away.

But then Junjie had other ideas. He suddenly popped out of Mulan's shoulder and shouted back at Gang, waving a fist angrily at him.

"Chicken Boy?! Say that to mah face, y'limp NOODLE!"

And then Gang lost it. With a monstrous growl—"GYAAARGGHH!"—he grabbed Mulan by the wing, and then blindly punched her senseless three times. But, in his blind anger, he didn't get the chance to realize that the panicked Mulan had ducked from his rage, and Gang had actually grabbed and punched Ling in her place instead. Gang eventually realized his mistake and chuckled.

"Oh, heh-heh." Gang hugged his best friend by his long neck. "Sorry, Ling. _Hey!_ "

He turned around to catch Mulan, who was trying to crawl away from the mess that she herself had started (with the ever so faithful Junjie on her shoulder this time, of course). However, just as Gang was actually able to grab the tip of her train feathers, Ling suddenly mistook Gang for Mulan and in effect kicked the pig so that he slammed onto the peahen, which only actually gave her more momentum to run away.

"Hey!" shouted Gang. "Come back here, Chicken Boy!"

Ling, thinking that he'd caught Mulan, kicked at Gang once more, maing the pig fly in the air. As Gang flew over to Manchu, Manchu firmly shut his eyes like a scared girl and kicked Gang back at Ling like the pig was a pingpong ball. Unbeknownst to them, Mulan had successfully gotten away. They started fighting each other, unaware that Mulan wasn't the person they were actually strangling, until they suddenly realize that they had already locked themselves in an inverted swastika lock. Ling was trying to bite Gang's foot, Gang was shaking Manchu by the poor antelope's horn, and Manchu was pounding girlishly at Ling with his mirror, all the while squealing, "Let go of me, you brutes! Ahhh! I shall protect my ever so handsome face from all your barbarous savagery!"

But then, in the midst of it all, Gang suddenly caught sight of Mulan, who was panting and desperately trying to get away from them all, her fan tail dragging and her heavy armour making her look like a bouncing ball of metal.

"Hey!" Gang said, struggling to get out of there. "There he goes!"

Then Ling, Manchu, and Gang got up from the ground and started advancing on Mulan.

Mulan ran ever faster when she saw them quickly gaining at her from behind, the boys a living stampede of unhappy profanities, rallying and creating a cacophony of protests and obscene languages that she didn't have the brainpower to register.

She groaned inwardly. Aurgh.

Not _again_.

"Girl, we're in deep trouble!" reported Junjie as he stuck himself out of her armour to peer out from her shoulder. He became panicked when he saw the threesome running after them. "You gotta pull us outta here! You're bestie's life is on the line!"

"You're not my—ugh. Never mind!" Mulan took off her armour so that she would not have to carry more weight than she had to—ugh, her fan tail was so heavy that running with it was a struggle. Her metal armour clattering to the ground and revealing the brown robes she wore from underneath, she ignored the curious onlookers as she mumbled under her breath, "If only mother were here to stop them, then I will certainly… _gaaah!_ "

Mulan suddenly tripped over the long fabric of her robes and then she crash-landed on the ground. Ling, Manchu, and Gang weren't able to stop their momentum, however, because they just continued barrelling themselves forward, not anymore having the ability to control the movement of their feet. "Arrrghh!" Ling, Manchu, and Gang barrelled into a long line of new recruits who had lined up for soup, causing everyone to bowl over each other like dominoes, until the rabbit at the front was nudged into the hot bowl of porridge and then the entire thing was spilled onto the ground to create a very watery disaster. Every rabbit, antelope, fox, panda, goose, pig, and sheep moaned and groaned, and they slowly got up, turning their heads at the direction of the pea'cock' at the far end of the line.

They started to get up, and they advanced toward Mulan, growling under their breaths, punching fists into their palms, cracking their necks from side to side. Mulan could only shrink herself into a ball onto the ground as she stared up at her new angry friends, their menacing shadows looming threateningly over at her. So Mulan thought it was not a good idea to punch them.

"Um…hello there, guys?"

Junjie buried his head in his hands.

And that was Lesson One: How to Say Hello.

* * *

"The Xiongnu are fast approaching, and—"

"—and they are led by Donghai Khan," Shen cut off, quite rudely. He didn't understand it why people around him just didn't get to the _point_. "Do not look down on me, General. I am already aware of these impertinent details, so please refrain from giving me any more. Proceed."

 _Right._ General Lord Lì cleared his throat and resumed in a voice in what he hoped was steady and free from the stains of mortification from being scolded by his own son.

"As you wish then, Captain. The Xiongnu have already attacked a few Mongolian tribes here, here, and here." He pointed a feather on three different point on the map on their table. "They've raided our hidden armoury just a few miles off the Great Wall, and at the rate they are going, they would finally cross our borders any day now and make their way to the Imperial City. We are going to need to launch a coup de main at three different possible routes so they would be defeated at the hands of China."

"Excellent strategy, sir! I do love surprises," said Guiren, who chuckled, but then stopped when he noticed that no one had joined him.

Shen cleared his throat and calmly put his wings inside his robes, crimson eyes intent onto the map before them. "The quickest route towards the Imperial City is the Tung Shao Pass, so surely the brutes would take that path. From there, the whole Army—yours, General—should therefore wait for them to arrive and stand guard at this village," he pointed a place in the map with a feather, "until you seize the chance to launch your so-called coup de main."

Lì shook his head in disagreement. "No. Not the entirety of my army. I've separated them into groups, and assigned each to stand guard over a specific territory as their assignment—"

"General. It is better if you attack them with full force at the Tung Shao Pass."

"But how—"

"It is better."

Lì's face only contorted into an expression of doubt and indecision.

Guiren laughed at Shen. "You think your ideas are so brilliant, boy, but you can't just expect everybody to listen to some _junior_ captain's daydreams if he wouldn't explain himself first!"

Shen gritted his beak. By being promoted to captain, he expected people to look up to him in newfound respect and just obey his every command without question. But no, his father, the General, was being impertinent and close-minded just because _he_ was the one who had more war experience here. Being born a natural, despotic leader, Shen did not like this, being looked upon just because his position was, what, _lower_ than this father? Bah, a person's authority and position did nothing to impress him—if one was an idiot thorough and thorough, then one was an idiot thorough and thorough. But from the looks of it, his discussion with his father was going nowhere. He was left with no other choice. Desperate means come with desperate measures. He had to do that one peasant-worthy thing that he loathed the most, that thing that only lowly underdogs are supposed to do.

He had to explain himself.

"You," started Shen, slowly, _elaborately_ , spelling each syllable out as if he was already tired of a tedious conversation with a five-year-old, "would have no chance to defeat the Xiongnu if the Army is divided. I do not mean to insult your little titchy pride, but the Imperial Army stands having little to no chance against the Xiongnu at all. I want to be as gentle as I can in reminding you, but Oogway and Kai's so-called 'legendary' army is now dead. And now you want to divide the pathetic Imperial Army into mere _groups?_ That would only be the decision of an arrogant fool. China needs the _entirety_ of your army to attack _together_. So together you shall ambuscade the Xiongnu at the Tung Shao Pass."

Lì saw that Shen had a point, but he was still doubtful. "But…why the Tung Shao Pass?" he challenged. "There are many other routes that lead to the Imperial City, and yet you want the entirety of the Imperial Army to wait at only one route?"

"I am getting to that, General. I do understand that there are many other routes that lead to the Imperial City." Shen pointed at the Songzhi Province, the Xingtai Forests, and the Valley of Peace on the map on their table as he said this. "But if the Xiongnu are to be strategic—and with Khan at the lead, I deduce they are—they would take the Tung Shao Pass. Winter is almost at hand. If the Xiongnu would not take the Pass, which is the fastest route to the Imperial City, then they would die of cold. So in theory…"

Lì gulped. Shen _did_ have a point. He must be getting old. "…they would take the Pass?"

"If they wouldn't like to die from freezing, yes."

Lì looked at Shen in the eyes. "But it would still be risky if we guard only one route, Captain."

Shen stared coldly back. "War involves risks, General."

Lì mulled this over for a long moment before finally sighing and standing up. "Then I will consider it, Captain. I am afraid I must go now, though. You stay here and train the recruits. When Guiren here deems you ready, you would be called to the battlefront."

Shen stood up as well. "I am looking forward to it."

Lì paused at that. And, just like that, he suddenly wasn't the General anymore—he was a father who cared. He reached out his wings to hold his son's in his own, which earned quite a shocked reaction from a frozen Shen.

"Son…I…I actually…" Lì then looked at Shen into the eye, almost sadly. "I actually wish that that wouldn't have to happen."

That took some moment for it to sink in. Once realization dawned into Shen's eyes, however, he merely pulled his wings away from the general, and hid them inside his robes. He raised his head, and, the expression on his face one of deathly calm, he said, "Ah. I have been waiting for you to say that line. I am correct as always." Shen angled his head so that his red eyes would catch the light, like a sharpened blade slanted to intimidate an opponent.

"You don't believe I can do this."

Lì was immediately struck at that. "No, son, no, I—please don't think of it that way. As your father, it is only natural that I worry about you. And I _do_ believe in you, Shen." Lì was able to summon a rare smile as he reached behind him to grab at something.

"That is why I am giving this back to you…" He handed over Shen's confiscated Guan Dao. "…Captain Lord Shen."

Shen was shocked for a moment, but he was brilliant enough in not letting any of that slip through the cold expression on his face. He took the Guan Dao reverently in his wings. Then he looked at his father in the eyes.

"I…appreciate it, General."

Lì smiled, the father very glad for having made it up for Shen.

"I just…wait." Lì had looked like he wanted to say something more, but now his attention was somewhere else, the intimacy in the atmosphere suddenly vanishing like ashes in the air. He looked at his son strictly in the eyes.

"Shen. I smell the scent of…" Lì's eyes widened when he realized it. He took a step back and he let his baritone rumble through the air, making this one of those rare moments when Lord Lì decided to let his anger show.

"Haven't I _forbidden_ you from ever touching them again?"

Shen turned away, not letting his father's anger intimidate him. "It does not matter."

"Yes, it _does_." Lì could still very well remember that day when he witnessed his son almost die because of playing with fire, the day of his supposed marriage, the day when Shen's laboratory had burst into flames. "Have you been playing around? _Again?_ "

"Father, please." Shen was quick to be offended by that. "I am not _playing_ around—"

"Fireworks are dangerous for someone like you." Lì's words carried through the air in a strict baritone that could have shaken the earth beneath their feet. "I don't understand why you simply don't get it. Our family had invented this to bring joy, colour, prosperity. There is no need for you to experiment any further—any more modifications, and our legacy could potentially bring upon danger. And after what had happened to you, one would think that you've already learned your _lesson._ "

Shen didn't reply for a few silent moments. Then, when he realized that his father was done with his rant, he replied with a bored tone. "Could we please get a move on now?"

That only riled up the older peacock as his feathers were lifted involuntarily off the floor ever so slightly, although it was obvious he was trying to keep it down.

" _Shen!"_ Lì said, his voice scolding. "What if you get hurt, or burned again, or this time, what if it would actually _kill_ you? I wouldn't be there to save you this time!"

Shen stood up against his father by looking at him steadily in the eyes.

"Would you please _stop?_ I am not a child. I am now the Captain of the Imperial Army—"

"And _I_ am your _father_ ," countered Lì, the expression on his face seething nothing but grave disappointment. "Once again you are making a disgrace of yourself."

A pregnant silence descended upon the father and son at that. The two simply glared at each other, their walls of civility crumbling down into bits.

"General?" Guiren cleared his throat to break the awkwardness. "It is time."

Lì turned his head away from Shen, still frustrated with his son's disobedience and misbehaviour, but keeping his tone as civil and formal as possible.

"…very well. Take care, Captain Lord Shen. We'll toast China's victory at the Imperial City." Lì turned to Guiren. "I'll expect a full report in three weeks."

The General then disappeared behind the tent's brown drapery.

"And believe me," sneered Guiren over at Shen, as the pig scribe lifted the draperies. "I won't leave anything, _anything_ out."

And then Guiren left the tent to stand beside the General Lord Lì. A giant panda happened to pass by at that very moment, and then gave Lord Lì a playful salute. Lì merely gave the panda a nod of acknowledgement before walking forward once again.

Shen, meanwhile, was still inside the tent, still reeling from his father's words.

_Once again you are making a disgrace of yourself._

He huffed and banished that sentence from his mind. So he was being a little disobedient. So what? There's nothing so bad about that. After all, he was of the opinion that it is only through disobedience that progress could ever be made, through disobedience and rebellion. When the world is run by fools, it is the duty of the intelligent to disobey. Only the obedient must be slaves.

He was thinking of these things when his mind eventually brought him to imagine his glory. Ah, yes. They will al see. He will be Captain Lord Shen, the leader that brought the Xiongnu to their knees. He will prove himself worthy of everyone's praise, he will be that great warrior that Chinese history shall venerate for centuries more to come. He smirked to himself. People shall be amazed at how he will counter the attacks of the Xiongnu with intelligence and strategy, and not just by brutality and numbers.

What his father didn't know was that he had a plan with the fireworks. It was still merely an idea right now, but only close-minded fools—like that one particular General who shall remain unnamed—wouldn't be able to appreciate that idea. He wasn't yet finished with his experiments, but eventually, _eventually_ he knew that he will get to succeed with his newest invention. The thing about himself was that he was an idealistic achiever, and however impossible the end goal might be, he would always be determined to make it happen, and would use whatever means possible just to achieve it.

Fireworks are just for bringing people colour and joy, huh?

Shen chuckled to himself. He could already hear the applause of the masses once they see just how brilliantly relentless his plans were.

_We'll see, then._

Shen stared at the map on the table for a moment, his eyes landing briefly to that area that was marked Tung Shao Pass. Then, with a sigh, he walked around the table with his Guan Dao held at one wing. He paused for a bit when he reached the tent's draperies, and then contemplatively looked at his reflection on the Guan Dao.

And then there was that one more thing his father had told him.

_I do believe in you, Shen._

Shen let out a silent breath. Sometimes even he didn't know what to believe anymore.

Lifting up the draperies with one wing and holding his large sword by the other, Shen began stepping out of the tent, a metallic sound following him step after step. He was being careful not to step on a stone lest he dashed his injured talons. Well, yes, he'd already had them covered with bandages and he'd already had a custom-designed metal gauntlet to protect them from harm, but they still hurt. Thankfully he only felt a numb ache right now, yes, but he still had to be careful not to accidentally hit them else the pain would be triggered and he had to suffer through it all over again.

However, when the sun suddenly hit his eyes as he stepped out of his tent on his first day as Captain Lord Shen, a mashed potato suddenly flew by to greet him in all its mushiness.

Shen gripped his wing tightly around the handle of his Guan Dao, lifted it, and expertly deflected the said incoming mashed potato with the flat side of his sword. He flicked his sword so that the mushy mashed potato would get off of his sword already.

Then he took one look at the quarrelling new recruits, trying to see who among them had so disrespectfully thrown him the mashed potato. However, the rabbits, pigs, antelopes, geese, _animals_ were too busy fighting over something to notice that something was amiss. As if time stopped, the wrestling animals took one look at him as well. It was the first moment that Shen and the recruits were going to have to share.

Then they returned back to shouting and fighting and punching and kicking, as if they had not recognized him at all.

A vein almost popped in Shen's forehead, annoyed of their disrespectful attitude. What brutes they all were.

Guiren obviously agreed. The pig scribe's face turned into one of sour distaste.

"Most impressive."

Seeing the look of disgust on Shen's face, Lord Lì, who stood from afar among a few of his men, smiled amusedly and bid him a farewell that suspiciously sounded a bit…mocking.

"Good luck training them then, Captain!" he said, a bit of laughter in his tone. "Until we meet again!" And then, not waiting anymore from a response, Lord Lì motioned for his soldiers to follow him out of the camp, and he and his men proceeded towards the forest, where they then eventually disappeared from sight.

"Farewell," mumbled Shen from under his breath, still staring at the way they had gone after they had long disappeared into the forest.

And then he turned his head to the new recruits in front of him, who were brutally warring with each other, one rabbit even waving a pair of white—er…was that _yellow?_ —underpants in the air. "Oy!" he shouted. "Oy, oy, oy!"

Guiren looked up at Shen with a smug look on his face, a pen poised to write on his record.

"Day one."

Shen walked past the scribe, his silver robes flowing from behind him as he stood before these new so-called 'soldiers'.

"Soldiers," he began, his voice authoritative, designed to make anyone who heard him fall to their knees. However, no one yet from those barbaric animals had fallen to their knees like he expected. Hmm, how unusual. Baffled, he dared repeat himself in a louder voice, this time expecting to see some results.

"Soldiers!"

Boxing. Kicking. Wrestling. That rabbit still waving his underpants in the air like it was China's golden flag of glory.

Shen was getting irritated now. _"Soldiers!"_ he said again, much louder than he preferred. _"_ I demand you all listen to me or— _"_

That rabbit ran right in front of him and shouted, "Let's DO this war, people!"

An extremely annoyed Shen finally fanned out his train feathers to grab their attention and yell out his lungs.

" _IDIOTS!_ "

Then the recruits suddenly realized that _they_ were the aforementioned idiots being addressed.

Gang, the barbaric pig, took that silence as an opportunity to punch Mulan one more time.

And then they all separated to reveal a cowering peacock at the centre of all this mess, pointing all their fingers/hooves/feathers of accusation over at a poor Mulan.

"HE started it!" the men hollered in unison.

Mulan, in turn, had never felt so miserable in her life. She swore she was going to kill Junjie later—that rat had been hiding under her robes all this time, while SHE suffered all those men's punches! Then, suddenly, she was overcome by fear when she saw a tall figure approaching her, each of his steps accompanied by a familiar sound of metal stepping onto the ground. For a second, she saw that his talons were covered by some…metal gauntlet, and it had her wondering for a bit why he wore such a thing.

Then she unconsciously came to appreciate the design. How the miniature metal pieces came to be assembled, how the whole glove fit into his talons, and how the blacksmith must have shaped the metal to follow an elaborately designed draught. _Wow!_ she thought, her eyes filled with wonder. _Did he…did he design this himself?_

Then she caught herself.

_But…for what?_

"Get up."

Before she could even register who spoke those two sharp words, the cold tip of a blade was suddenly on her neck, making Mulan inhale a sharp, shocked breath. She lifted her eyes and she saw the tall figure of a white peacock before her, his glaring red eyes boring down at her as if he wanted to kill her with just that intense gaze. She realized that this must be her captain.

She gulped before him. The impression he made at that moment was too regal, too… _despotic_ , that she was simply frozen in too much of a shock to even speak.

The peacock in front of her pressed the tip of his blade into her neck even further. Mulan felt absolutely mortified. Is this her death? Is she going to die? She could hear the people around her whispering amongst themselves, even _laughing_ among themselves, and all Mulan could do was shut her eyes like she was getting ready to die.

_Is this…my death?_

"You coward," snapped the peacock, obviously not pleased with Mulan having closed her eyes like that. "Get up."

Mulan gulped a nervous lump down her throat, but then she managed to gather her robes about her and she scrambled onto her feet. Once she stood in front of the tall figure in front of her, though, she suddenly realized that the captain in front of her was actually…

…a fellow _peacock_.

It baffled her for a bit. She kind of expected her captain to be an ox, perhaps an ominous rhino, a strong and giant panda, or perhaps even a vicious crocodile with a thousand teeth. Birds were one of the weakest animals in the land, and yes, she was well aware that her species lacked strength, but strength was what they needed in a war, right? A bird would be acceptable as a soldier, but…as a _leader?_ Peafowl are hardly pillars of strength.

What shocked her more thoroughly, though, was his white feathers. An albino usually was born weak and sickly, right? She couldn't imagine this—a _captain_ leading a war against the Xiongnu, who was _weak_ and _sickly?_ She couldn't help her eyes from widening to the size of saucers as the implications dawned upon her.

 _A…_ white _peacock, leading this army?_

White. The symbolic colour of…of…

Death. Omens. Simply bad luck.

 _Well, get a grip_ , she told herself, immediately guilty for having judged this person just because of his colour. _You're_ brown _for heaven's sake._

And didn't he look quite a bit…too _young_ to be a captain? He looked just about _her_ age. To be honest, she'd expected their captain to be older than this, maybe in his late thirties or forties.

She observed from behind him that his fan tail was actually a frightening mixture of red and black, spotted upon pristine white. The eyespots were what unnerved her the most—they almost looked like a thousand eyes glaring at her, watching her, waiting for her to make a mistake.

But just before her mind could go raging all on its own, he had already caught her staring at him and he was apparently not pleased by that.

"I do not need anyone causing trouble in my camp," said Shen, and Mulan felt the cold tip of a blade touch her under her chin to lift up her head to face him. "And anyone who does gets dispatched."

"S-S-Sor…" Mulan gulped. _Stop stammering!_ "S-Sorry…"

But then Junjie immediately scolded her at that. "Is that the manliest voice you could muster?!" he whisper-yelled from her shoulder.

Mulan panicked for a moment, but then forced herself to calm down. _Right. Right. I have to use a man's voice. Deep, just like Junjie said. Here goes._ She cleared her throat.

"Er, I mean…uh, s-sorry you had to…s-say that, heh-heh!" Mulan didn't know how she did it, but she was able to muster the courage to even playfully punch Shen on the shoulder for good measure, although the annoyed Shen could only twitch at the physical contact. "But you know what it is when you get those manly urges—just gotta KILL something, ya know! Fix things…er, cook outdoors…"

Shen tolerantly closed his eyes as he lowered his weapon from her. "What is your name?"

Mulan was immediately stumped at that.

A _…_ a _name?_

The pig scribe by Shen's side took that chance to snap at her. "Your commanding officer just asked you a question!"

"I have got a name!" blurted Mulan, her mind desperately stalling as the other part of her mind desperately started digging up of a male name. _Come on, think, think!_ "Oh, and it's a…b-boy's name too."

"Ling!" whispered Junjie from her shoulder. "How 'bout Ling?"

Mulan was quick to retort as she gestured at the goose from far behind them. "I can't just say that, _his_ name is Ling." She could still remember that goose singing about flowers while he tried to punch her on the face.

"I did not ask for _his_ name, you blithering fool," barked Shen. "I asked for yours!"

Junjie hummed to himself in thought for a moment, until he said, "Try Ah-chu!"

And Mulan did. "Ah-chu!"

Shen blinked at her. " _Ah-chu?_ "

"Gesundheit!" giggled Junjie, who apparently thought this was funny. "Hee-hee…I kill me-self."

Mulan reproachfully bent her neck down a bit to scold the rat. "Junjie…"

Shen heard. "Junjie, then?"

Mulan snapped his head at him. "N-No! I—"

Shen finally burst and lifted his fan tail at her in all his rage. "Then what _is_ it?!"

Mulan felt her heart beating faster as her eyes became fixated by the frightening red and black eyespots on his feathers, and suddenly she couldn't help but take a step back and gulp down that rising fear on her throat. "I…I…"

She knew it was ridiculous, but the fear she felt was so great that tears had managed to well up in her eyes.

Great. If she couldn't even bear the sight of her captain, how can she survive one second in front of a Xiongnu?

Just great.

"Fang!" shouted Junjie, pulling Mulan out of her frightened trance. "Fang was my best friend growing up!"

Mulan shut her eyes and forced herself to gulp down that tremble in her voice and just spill the words.

"It's Fang!"

A flash of something went through Shen's eyes at that, which was enough to make him lower his fan tail just a bit.

"…Fang." He repeated the name as if he wanted to make sure.

"'Course, Fang _did_ steal my girlf—"

"Yes." Mulan shut Junjie up from behind her by reaching back and smothering his face with a wing. Then she looked at Shen, although she immediately lowered her eyes in fear. She couldn't hold his gaze for that long—she felt like it was a sin to do so. It was ridiculous, yes, but…he held that kind of authority.

"Y-Yes. My n-name is…" She gulped, told herself to get it together, and then mustered the courage to say it again. "My name is Fang."

Shen was oblivious to the fact that he'd just made an impression over her, and he simply held out a wing to her. "Hand me your conscription notice," he demanded. Mulan scrambled as she looked for the scroll tied onto her belt, and then she hand it to him. Shen took it, and rolled it open.

"Liwei Huang, is it?" he asked once his eyes fell upon the name written on the scroll. "Why hasn't your father come here instead, then?"

"He…knows that I…" Again Mulan scrambled her mind for a lie. And then she blurted, "He…knows that I can handle a ch-challenge this much, heh-heh." Mulan then attempted to spit, but failed miserably as the said saliva hung on her beak like a disgusting dew of slime.

Guiren leaned towards Shen to whisper something to him. "I can't see why. The boy's an absolute lunatic!"

Laughter burst out of the camp when that comment reached the other boys.

Shen swept a wing over at the air to snap them shut. " _Enough of this nonsense!_ " Satisfied once the laughter was gone, Shen began walking slowly around Mulan, apparently an attempt to humiliate her even further.

"Courtesy to your new friend _Fang_ ," he said, condescendingly, each of his metallic step an ominous sound that sent chills down her spine, "all of you shall spend tonight picking up _every_ single grain of rice."

Gang, Ling, and Manchu grimaced at that, but then they stood back up straight when Shen's eyes landed pointedly on them.

"The _real_ work shall begin tomorrow." His eyes seemed to point right back into Gang's. "Understood?"

The men grumbled their reluctant yeses while looking down at their feet. Shen decided then and there that he'd spent enough time with these so-called 'soldiers', so, with one last glare at Mulan, the captain disappeared right back into his tent, his scribe following right after him.

Once he was gone, all the men around her began to stare daggers at Mulan, threatening her with fists.

"You know," said Junjie, nervously chuckling over to Mulan, "we have to work on your people skills."


End file.
